


Eyes in the Night

by NRMS86



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Creature Belle, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Gaston's Menagerie, Maurice and Gaston are horrible people, Minor Characters Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rumbelle - Freeform, Shapeshifter Belle, Who says the Dark One Can't Have A Familiar
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-04-30 03:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14487852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NRMS86/pseuds/NRMS86
Summary: The Dark One is being pursued one wintry night.  The gem-like eyes of the being following him seem to pierce through his very soul.  He's feeling things he'd rather not, yet this stubborn creature does not relent. Mild trigger warning, Gaston is vicious and nobody wants to become part of his menagerie. Minor characters death. Happy ending eventually.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Iolite eyes is something I've called our daughter since the early 2000s, and then in late 2012 I started using it in my RumBelle stories as I wanted a unique way to refer to Belle's eyes. Like movie icon Elizabeth Taylor, Emilie de Ravin has "violet eyes" giving her an unworldly beauty. The word iolite is derived from the Greek word ios which means violet. Considering iolite has a special meaning in my family, including a special iolite ring my husband gave me on our wedding day decades ago, iolite felt like the right way to move forward adding something uniquely mine to my fan fiction. This story will be giving a nod to iolite's rich folklore.**

* * *

Rumplestiltskin, the Dark One, the eternal deal-maker trudges through the wintry night. He could easily use magic to transport himself back to his castle, but he reasons, _"What's there? No one to get home to."_ He's collected a myriad of material belongings and untold amounts of magical artifacts, yet it's not a home. His beloved Baelfire is far out of reach. The Dark Castle is nothing more than a storage place for his body and the things he collected to fill the ever expanding hole in his life.

The fresh laid snow glistens like crystals scattered across the landscape. The tangible weight and crackle of the frozen precipitation help ground him. He hadn't much liked the slushy mess in his early life, since it heralded the need for rationing of food and supplies during Winter with a father, who was more interested in liquor, gambling and carousing with women than providing for his young son. Rumplestiltskin's attitude changed dramatically once Bae discovered snow. Through Bae's eyes, it was magical and awe inspiring – with no actual magic required to delight. His sense memory triggers the feeling of a weight on his chest. He vividly recalls his toddler with unruly brown curls straddling him as Milah snored beside him. _"Papa, papa! It snow! Come see!"_ Unable to deny his lad, he reached for his walking stick and rolled out of bed shuffling after his son. Thus, on nights such as this, Rumplestiltskin pays homage to his son by embracing the 'magic' it created in his child's eyes.

Lost in thought, he doesn't initially notice the barely perceivable crushing of snow from steps behind him. There is a faint ping of a twig snapping under the pressure of the follower's step. Magic instantaneously flips the Dark One around to face his pursuer. In the same instant, he thinks, _"What idiot dare stalk me?!"_ His breath catches in his throat when he views the creature intruding on his time alone with thoughts of Bae. His vision focuses keenly on the iolite eyes staring intently at him. His awareness slowly expands away from the entrancing eyes to survey the whole sleek black face and muscular body. Prior to becoming Dark One, he would have been paralyzed with fear facing a presumably ravenous panther... even though Rumplestiltskin's mind would note the feline in question is a wee bit on the small side. Instead, as Dark One knowing he cannot be killed, his curiosity is piqued.

The most curious thing about this creature are the eyes. He had seen other panthers before, but those had emerald green, rusty gold or sky blue eyes. As the moon shines upon them, there is an unmistakable violet tinge. Ignoring momentarily that the panther still could cause a painful injury if so inclined, Rumplestiltskin is lost in its eyes musing how he'd always had an affection for purple. After a few seconds, self preservation kicks in, and he decides to forgo the rest of his walk to magic himself to the castle. The creature seems to sense his thought and makes a huffing sound charging towards him leaping many paces in one pounce. He is startled into inaction by its advances, fully aware he'll have a bite to heal in a second. The bite, however, never comes as the creature lands with a thud at his feet rolling in the snow.

"What in the name of... ?" The Dark One takes in this sight with his forehead crinkling in confusion.

The panther eventually positions itself belly up, and Rumplestiltskin simply stares. He begins to step away, and its massive paw comes hammering down on his boot.

"Hey! I like these boots! And they don't need ventilation courtesy of your claws!"

Of course, he can fix the boots magically with barely a thought, but that's beside the point, he mentally grumbles. The panther squirms in the snow scooting closer to him again and rubs its head against his boot. Rumplestiltskin bites the inside of his lip to keep a stern expression, despite the amusement bubbling up inside him. He recalls various sheepdogs he'd known who did the same kind of antics to coax a belly rub. The panther lifts its head and looks at him with a perturbed impatient expression, then resumes rubbing against his boot. He is enthralled by the animal's sweetness and also perplexed by a sense of desperation emanating from it. He notes panthers are typically solitary creatures, yet this one is reaching out for connection. _"Why?"_ Letting out a long overly exaggerated sigh, he looks around to ensure no other soul can witness him – the all powerful Dark One, cavorting with an overgrown house cat, then he kneels down.

His gnarled scaled greenish-gold fingers stroke the creature's fur downward from its chest as it makes contented noises. Despite himself, the Dark One smiles.

"Yes, you're a good..." he looks between the animal's hind legs and determines it to be female. "... girl. That's right, lass, you're such a good girrrl."

She seems to approve as she makes noises which strangely mimic his rolling R's. He mindlessly strokes her. It's been centuries since an animal has allowed him to pet it with such unabashed trust. His heart flutters with a giddy lightness which he can't decipher. He's missed this. Unexpectedly, she makes a sound between a growl, a hiss and a yelp, yet makes no attempt to injure him. Drawing his hand back, there is a semi-congealed crimson liquid on his finger tips and claw-like black nails.

"Sweetheart, what happened?" he croons trying to sooth her as he looks at her shimmering watery eyes. He has an unsettling realization he could drown in those iolite pools if he's not careful. A gem, as rare as she, tugs at his battered misused heart. Breaking eye contact, he shifts his gaze to find the source of the blood. The she-panther's black fur is damp and matted on her abdomen above her hip. Luckily enough, the wound appears to be primarily on the surface of her skin. A slight change in direction would have hit an artery, and she would have bled out. The wound is a clean slice indicating it was created by something man-made, perhaps an knife or arrow. Rumplestiltskin reasons the animal's quick reflexes saved her life. Still, her rib-cage rapidly compresses and expands as she pants due to her anxiousness and pain.

Purple magic flows from his hand mending the cut skin, and he adds a further enchantment to stave off infection. Her eyes drift closed for a moment as magic seeps into her body offering her relief. When finished, he rubs her ears as her eyelids slowly open beckoning him back to gaze at her in awe. He muses, to the lowbrow undiscerning observer, her eyes may simply be dismissed as run of the mill blue – nothing special, yet these ios gems looking back at him denote a being of unique value. Her irises dusted with a purple hue are dazzling. Those iolite eyes cut through his heart like not even the hardest of diamonds ever could.

He caresses the side of her face, and the she-panther licks his hand. He smiles at her tender demonstration of gratitude. After a moment, the pleasant sensation gives way to an overwhelming desire for attachment. This need she triggers makes him feel off balance, and he abruptly pulls his hand away.

"Yes, well, I need to go. Off with you."

He strides away from her yet hears her heavy paws crunching the snow behind him keeping pace with his stride.

"No. Go home!"

Taking a few more paces he hears her keeping up with him.

"Look, it was lovely to make your acquaintance, dearie, but I don't need a pet. The Dark One is a solo act." He looks at her sad expression. Fighting every urge to take her with him, he commands, "Sit!"

She looks at him like he's the bloody imbecile he sees in his own mind. _"She's not a dog, dimwit!"_ Still, he figures dog commands are as good as any, and repeats sternly, "You heard me, I said 'SIT!'"

She makes a huffing grumble but does as she is told.

"Good. Have a nice life!"

He walks forward fully aware she is again following him. He whips around to face her just in time to see her sit and look everywhere but at him.

"M'Lady, you are not fooling me for a minute. Stop this infernal pursuit! The Dark One has no need for a familiar." She turns to face him. Her iolite eyes forlorn and full of grief.

He swallows hard with his breathing becoming rapid. There's something about her that terrifies him. She makes him _feel_ things. He's worked too hard to avoid feeling to fall into that trap again. "Go have a life. Find a nice male panther and have a litter of cubs." Her gaze is unabated. Before his will to leave her snaps completely, he croaks out the words, "Good bye, sweetheart," and disappears in a purple cloud.

Her feline voice emits a whimper of despair as she looks to the sky, her iolite eyes filled with liquid refracting the moon's glow giving her eyes a true gem like quality. A mist appears before her, and a woman with smokey blue eyes and auburn and gray hair woven into a long braid appears and smiles tenderly.

"You already know what you need to do. You don't need my meddling in this. Follow your intuition and heart. You've always been able to find your way. It's time to do it again. I'll be here on this astral plane watching and rooting for you. I love you."

The vision fades and the she-panther sighs and then begins her long walk with her destination vividly clear in her mind's eye.

* * *

**Author's Note: So this story just came to me this weekend and demanded to be written... I suspect the forty-something degree weather at the end of April is responsible for my thoughts of snow. Do you get the feeling that when Rumple trained his pets, they train him too? One might expect that someone will have him wrapped around her paw soon. Please review... Guest reviews are fine. You don't need an Ao3 account; I just like to read people's thoughts on my stories.**

**PS. The 'good girrrl' with the rolling Rs that Rumple said is a little gift for Floof Commissioner Terri. You're always there for me, so I hope you enjoyed the floofman thrrrill.**

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rumple is in for some surprises.

Rumple materializes in the Dark Castle striding through the great hall, shrugging off his long spiked leather coat, tossing it haphazardly onto the large table in the center of the room. There was a time he would have scolded Bae for tossing his clothes in such a careless way, but it isn't as though he can expect to have dinner company. Hence, this is where his coat lands as he determinedly makes his way to his spinning wheel. He needs to forget what he felt in the last minutes. There is a weakness in him which he cannot abide, so he spins – and spins. Shades of dark brown, amber, and umber swirl in a visual symphony as he watches the wheel. His movements become more erratic with every turn, and all he can see is her iolite eyes looking at him expectantly.

 

“ _Who is she to expect something from me? I healed her. Isn't that enough?!”_

 

The wheel wobbles as he jerks his hand back realizing he _somehow_ managed to get his fingers tangled in the golden cord he's spun. _“That's never happened before. What in the Hell did she do to me?!”_

 

As he disentangles himself, he wonders if he's truly _that_ lonely to be undone by a chance encounter with a random animal. _“Pathetic!”_ Still, something tells him this isn't a random animal. There is something extraordinary about the creature he encountered. He decides eradicating her memory via spinning is a fruitless effort tonight. Thus, he opts for drinking some warm milk and hoping to sleep her away. At some point in the wee hours, his blanket ends up hurled across his bedchamber in a fit of rage worthy of a two year old. He can't seem to find a comfortable position in which to rest. His pillow feels scratchy and his mattress feels lumpy – both of which he rationally knows are not true, yet rational thought left him hours ago.

 

* * *

The first rays of daylight filter into the room, and Rumplestiltskin grumbles as he gets out of bed and his feet touch the frigid floor. Being the Dark One typically means being impervious to exhaustion from a missed night's sleep, yet he's tired – tired and agitated. An incredibly strong cup of tea is his next logical step. He recalls the spinster ladies, who raised him after his father's abandonment, were quite sure that a cup of tea could sooth most ails of the world. However, on the way to get his tea, he feels something is amiss with the castle. He questions whether his irritable energy is impacting the magic surrounding the castle – not that a foul mood has ever done so before. He's drawn to the castle door.

 

Assuming his feeling is based in the desire for fresh air, he opens the door, simultaneously breathing in the crisp chilled air as he views the snowy mountains painted with shades of orange and gold, and the sky is infused with brilliant blues and purples from the ascending sun. He nearly chokes on the exhale as his eyes drift down to see a panther – _his_ she-panther lying on his doorstep looking yet more wary than even he feels.

 

“You expect that you can just show up uninvited, and I'll let you in?” He tries and fails to keep a tone of relief from his voice. She stretches pressing the front of her torso to the ground while hoisting her hindquarters in the air swinging her tail back and forth.

 

“Alright, in you go. I supposed formal introductions are in order. Rrrumplestiltskin, at your service.” He bows dramatically with a sweep of his arm and quips, “I'd eat my boots if you could ever say my name.”

 

After she enters looking studiously at her new surroundings, he instructs, “Now, let me make one thing perfectly clear. You do your business _outside_. This door will let you in and out at will. I have no intention of cleaning up your droppings. The Dark One is not a scat scooper!”

 

The feline's jaw goes slack as if she is mortified by this conversation. The end of her tail twitches side to side. Closing her mouth, he could swear she nods in the affirmative, and then sticks out her chin, licks her paw and begins using it to wipe her face.

 

“Preening, are we? Well, that can wait my feline fr.. friend,” stumbling over the word which is alien to his experience. “Come with me. It's time for breakfast, and I'd hazard a guess you could use a meal. And I am most definitely not on the menu.” She looks insulted by the implication, but follows obediently behind him through the great hall, briefly dawdling by a shelf with books.

 

“Don't even think about it. Books are not for eating.”

 

There is a look on her features which he can't decipher, but she quickens her pace to keep up with him, and they enter the kitchen. Her nose twitches at the onslaught of appetizing smells. She watches intently as he acquires food items from the ice chest and various cabinets. He watches her from the corner of his eye noting the calculating expression on her face, and says, “You are not to raid supplies on your own.” She looks away with a fake look of innocence. Her large tongue swoops out wiping across her whiskers, and she walks the perimeter of the room, then sits by him as he cracks an egg, prepares two sausage links, and cuts a loaf of pumpernickel bread -- the scent of rye hanging tantalizingly in the air.

 

“This is _my_ breakfast.” After he places a pan with egg and sausages in it onto the cast iron rack above the hearth, he pours some water in a bowl placing it in front of her, and then reaches for a raw side of boar, putting the pork on a plate next to the bowl on the floor. She looks at the meat like it is alien to her.

 

“That's what those boars you hunt look like after a human butchers them.”

 

She makes no move towards the uncooked slab of meat, and he sighs in exasperation. He plates his meal and pours himself a cup of tea. He can practically feel her eyes bore into him. After eating a few bites from his meal, he looks at her lost expression. _“Oh she's good. My sheepdogs had nothing on her ability to use her beautiful eyes to coax food from me. But I will not be trained to suit her whims.”_

 

“No. You are _not_ getting table scraps. You eat what I give you, or you can hunt for your own meal outside like any self-respecting panther.”

 

Dejected, she sniffs her meat looking rather disgusted. After another couple of minutes, she takes an experimental bite of the boar and looks distinctly like she might vomit. He tries not to worry over her, but is at the ready should her meal make a return visit. She makes a few more tentative bites and seems to tolerate them better. Whatever apprehension she has melts away in favor of satisfying her hunger, and she takes ever more hardy bites with her crushing jaws, and she wraps her massive paw around the bone to hold it in place.

 

“That's my girrrl.” She looks up licking her whiskers to savor every morsel. Popping the last bite of buttered pumpernickel into his mouth, he reaches down to scratch her broad brow, and she nuzzles his hand in appreciation.

 

“You know, it occurs to me, I should give you a name if you're going to be a regular fixture in my castle.” Her heavily lidded iolite eyes gaze lazily at his large amber eyes as he continues to massage her scalp. “Well, m'dear, what should I call you?”

 

Pressing a finger from his free hand to his chin staring out the window in contemplation as the she-panther licks and sucks the fingers of his other hand. He looks back at her eyes which have been seared in his brain since they met.

 

“I shall call you, Ios, in honor of your lovely eyes. Does that meet with the lady's approval?”

 

Upon his announcement, she looks at him with an expression he assesses as sentimental gratitude. While he knows better than anyone the power of names, bestowing a name on her is merely a simple act of respect since he doesn't know her real name in _'Pantherese.'_ Regardless of it not being a grand gesture – indeed, it only took a few moments while at breakfast, she seems to have more regard for this gift of a name than all the people for whom he's secured enviable futures with his deals – _“Or even the few women in my lifetime who've feigned affection for me.”_ The notion that he just compared this large feline to human women makes his eyes go large and shift about the room. Trepidation implores him to create space between he and his new house-guest. He pulls his hand away and jolts out of his seat. He finds he suddenly doesn't know what to do with his hands. He opens them wide appearing ready to make some lordly declaration, then dropping them to his side feeling the leather of his pants beneath his fingertips wishing his form-fitting britches had pockets into which to shove his gangly appendages, and finally folding his arms pinning his hands against him.

 

“I have things to do,” the edge to his voice evident. “I can't spend my day gabbing to you. Feel free to roam around _this_ floor of the castle. Magic will prevent you from going anywhere dangerous.” Unceremoniously vanishing only to re-materialize in his tower feeling like a damn fool, he wonders why he feels so discombobulated. Her brow furrows in consternation causing ripples across her fur which reflects the sea of emotions she's experienced in recent days. A mournful sound rattles from the back of her throat. Ios moves forward tiredly deciding to get acquainted with her new surroundings.

 

* * *

When Rumplestiltskin pulls himself away from his tower around mid-afternoon, instead of magically transporting himself to the kitchen, he walks wearily through the corridors contemplating whether Ios may have come to the realization that a castle is not appropriate residence for a panther and left. He takes in the empty kitchen with only her used plate and bowl on the floor marking her existence. He sighs getting the teapot ready. He knows Ios may be elsewhere exploring the castle, but he also knows she may well have gone. For the life of him, he can't suss out how he feels about that. Part of him feels that is as it should be. Panthers are meant to run free, and his multitude of machinations certainly don't need a wild animal under foot – no matter how domesticated she may seem. Regardless, the prospect of never seeing her again simply doesn't set right with him for reasons he'd prefer not to scrutinize. He enters the great hall to see Ios lying by the fireplace rather forcefully pushing her tongue into the webbing of her paw in an effort to clean herself. The corners of his mouth ascend to greet his cheeks feeling a giddiness at the sight of her. Watching her diligently cleanse her digits, he notes he is glad to have a comfortable bathtub for himself to attend to such maintenance.

 

“Cleanliness is next to godliness, eh?”

 

She whips around to see him looking almost embarrassed. _“Do panthers blush?”_

 

He finds he cherishes her dainty qualities which belie a body that could rip a man to shreds given the right provocation. Steam wafts upward from the teapot as he pours the liquid which resembles the color of dark henna. As he stirs in a bit of honey, he notices Ios has migrated to the table with a needy look in her eyes. Before he can stop her, she's on her hind-legs front paws pressing demanding against the table top, her head jutting forward as her tongue darts out to lick the rim of the cup where a bit of sweetened tea beaded on the edge. The cup is knocked from his hand and clatters to the table. She looks as shocked as he is. Her countenance battles between guilt and desire, then a decision is made, and she attempts to lick up the tea spattered and puddling on the wood.

 

“No!”

 

She promptly jerks herself back to a sitting position with her head hanging low. He wonders what on earth possessed her to want tea so desperately, then reason takes hold and he remembers he's dealing with an animal who acts upon her senses, and the tea does smell alluring.

 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I don't know if this will make you sick. Besides, your paws are hardly designed to accommodate a tea cup.”

 

It is then that both panther and Dark One look at the tea cup suddenly aware it's been chipped. Her jaw goes slack and her eyes water, and she uneasily steps forward to rub her head against his thigh.

 

He strokes between the ears and says, “It's just a cup. Nothing to fret about, darling.” _“'Darling'? What's happening to me?”_

 

As he continues to scratch her head and relief washes over her body, he makes a decision and carefully plucks a hair from her, hoping to do so without causing her discomfort. Judging my the way she leans into him, he assumes his effort to be a success. After using magic to send the hair to his tower, he glides his hand sideways from her brow down the side of her face to cup her chin. She looks so contented that he has trouble finding the motivation to leave, but there is work to do. He kneels down to her eye level, and softly says, “Ios, I have some things I must do now. I'll see you again at dinner,” unsure whether she could understand, yet with the nagging suspicion that she understands more than he knows. He walks out the double doors on his way to his tower workshop.

 

She stretches her neck to raise her head enough to see the table has been magically cleaned, and as she is about to step forward, she discovers on the floor in front of her is some meat and a bowl of water. After she's satisfied herself, Ios goes to lay by the spinning wheel which smells of him.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin retrieves a small vial from the oak cabinet behind his work table and places the panther hair inside, and then sets it into a carved stone stand while he grabs a small knife. Pressing the point of the blade into his index finger tip enough to summon blood to bead up to the surface, he squeezes his finger over the vial until the drop of blood descends. He watches as the blood slowly mingles with the panther hair. He close his eyes propelling magic into the vial. This will tell him if she has ill intent towards him. His eyes remain closed a moment more as latent anxiety percolates in his mind. A sickly pea soup green is the color he fears seeing, meaning his instincts about her are wrong. His lids glide open as he breathes deep. A cheek splitting grin spreads across his face as he sees a cool blue reminiscent of refreshing seas. He's surprised by how much he finds himself smiling today. Without thinking, he kisses the vial in celebration – feeling silly a moment later at his sentimental display. He puts the vial on an adjacent shelf as he proceeds to commence with other tasks of the day, unaware the contents of the vial have begun to swirl with the hue shifting to an iridescent purple.

* * *

Entering the great hall at dinner time, Rumplestiltskin is momentarily deflated to see Ios is not there. Disappointment barely has time to register as the she-panther ambles into the room with the tell-tale signs of a frosty extroversion. The pearly snowflakes dusting her black fur quickly dissolve in the heat. As she listlessly walks further into the great hall, he notes her exhaustion.

 

“Have you slept at all since last night?” He internally chastises himself, _“Why are you talking to her like she's human? Do you expect her to reply?”_ Looking at her bleary eyes, “You should sleep when dinner is over,” and he feels a palpable anxiety vibrate through her.

 

“Yes, well, dinner is served, madam.”

 

Ios begins to eat as she stands to the right side of his chair and wobbles occasionally, eventually leaning her body against the table leg. Dinner is far less eventful than tea time, if in no small part due to the Dark One's dinner companion nodding off periodically. After dinner, he goes to spin for a while, and close at his side is the she-panther whose head intermittently bobs as her eyes start to close, only to have her head to jerk up defiantly waking herself.

 

“M'dear, you're putting up a valiant fight against the Sand Man, but he always wins – unless you're the Dark One, and that job is already taken.” Ios briefly opens her eyes wide in an attempt to appear attentive, and he chuckles, “My son, Bae, used to do that all the time. 'Papa, I'm not tired,' he'd say then he'd be out like a light before his wee head hit the pillow.”

 

Rumplestiltskin is startled to realize he's spoken about Bae for the first time in centuries. However, he quickly calms himself with the thought of his test of her hair and knowing a panther, no matter how bright, could not make use of such information. It feels good to talk about Bae without the expectation of recrimination about their final minutes together. Noting the intrigue in her eyes after the mention of his son, he chalks it up to coincidence or something pleasant in his vocal tone when he talks about his son, and he begins to regale Ios with the tale of Bae, his mud pies, and Milah's favorite shoes turned shovel for a four year old. He laughs hardily recalling the look on Milah's sour face. Then he finds himself telling her another story and another. In time, he feels a warm weight on his knee and looks down to see she has her chin resting on his knee and her eyelids barely open. He strokes her head, kneading the fur behind her ears.

 

Softly he says, “The Sand Man is winning. It's time for bed, dear Ios.” He stands up and starts walking toward the double doors, and she trots awkwardly after him. “Ah, ah, ah, I'm going to _my_ bed, but you sleep in here.” She seems surprisingly determined to follow despite barely being awake enough to stand. “There is a cozy plush rug by the fire that should serve you well. Good night, sweetheart.” He leaves and she paces the room still trying to fight the inevitable, but then she lies on the rug uneasy about closing her eyes. Soon, exhaustion forces her hand – _paw_ , and she drifts to sleep.

* * *

 ****Author's Note: To answer some questions, the panther idea popped in my head last weekend. I've always had a fascination for panthers. When I was in college, I wrote a poem titled "Panther" which was chosen for publication in the annual college literary magazine, and before we started dating, my eventual husband bought me a ceramic black panther for my birthday. It's definitely a new challenge writing Belle with animal qualities, but it's given me the excuse to watch a lot of panther videos on YouTube. The next chapter has some of Ios' point of view and back story.  Thank you for all the kudos and reviews, they** ** ****are appreciated. Guest reviews are welcome. Enjoy your weekend.** **

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: This chapter has a trigger warning for violence. I tried not to be too detailed. Several minor characters die, and there's a bit about abuse Belle has suffered. Since OUAT's Gaston had minimal screen-time, the Gaston for this story is a mixture of OUAT and 2017 "Beauty and the Beast" Gaston. That said, this Maurice is an extension of the abusive bits we've seen from OUAT, hence nothing like lovable movie Maurice. This is mostly flashback via a dream. I was originally going to go back to present day at the end, but if felt like it worked better to end it with the end of the dream. Present day will resume in the next chapter, which I already have most of the first draft written.**

* * *

Minutes earlier, through the haze of weariness, Belle watches Rumplestiltskin leave and swishes her tail. She longs to hear him call her Ios again and invite her to go with him. She's heard yarns spun about the Dark One – the trickster, but he is nothing like those stories. Countless tales made him seem like evil incarnate, yet that's not what she sees. She knows what true evil looks like. She grew up with it. The evil invaded small moments of imagined safety and tore it to shreds. She prefers to be with him. He makes her feel safe and loved – _"Well, not loved, not like_ _that_ _. How could he, when I'm stuck going around on four legs making a fool of myself?"_ It's just that after all that's happened she feels the need to have someone she can trust, and as improbable as it seems, it's him. Her intuition told her the moment she laid eyes on him the tales weren't right, hence she followed him. She's not naïve. She knows he must do some terrible things from time to time to cultivate such fear from people. After all, he's known as the Dark One, so that must count for something. Yet with her, he's kind. Perhaps she should care about how he is with others, but after all the bloodshed she's witnessed, she's just glad to have found someone to be kind to her.

Part of her – the human part would like something other than meat to eat for every meal, much less raw meat. _"Yuck!"_ Prior to her current situation, she had never remained a panther long enough to require a predator's diet. _"But how is Rumple to know?"_ She's pleased with that pet name for him and wonders if it's possible for her panther voice to say it. _"It's just two syllables, after all."_ She makes an attempt, but the sound she produces is not remotely recognizable as 'Rumple.' She's too tired to put much effort into it presently.

Her sleep deprived mind switches back to her meals. Despite her reluctance to eat raw meat, the panther aspect of her existence is more than happy with the menu. _"It's so strange. In any moment, I don't know if my mind is more woman or panther."_ Looking at the table as she paces using the last fumes of energy she has, she is greatly embarrassed by her behavior over the tea this afternoon. _"What was I thinking?!"_ Still, she knows at the time after all she's been through, she was aching for a nice strong cup of tea – good manners be damned. While her father imbibed in alcohol, her mother and great-grandmother embraced the mantra that a cup of tea was good for body and soul in troubling times... and her disaster of a life has known no more troubling times than recent days. Settling where Rumplestiltskin instructed, she finds the fire has warmed the rug, and regardless of her trepidation at what she'll see in her mind's eye if she sleeps, slumber overtakes her.

* * *

Her mind gives way to blackness – inky and heavy, smothering conscious thought. The blackness dissolves into clouds of chartreuse, magenta and saffron. Colors shift and shift again forming shapes tumbling over each other to ultimately create an image her mind acknowledges.

_In a shabby cottage, Gabrielle, Belle's great-grandmother, holds three year old Belle, and her long auburn and gray braid tickles the child's cheek. Despite her granddaughter Colette's choice in husbands, Gabrielle is grateful for the gift of this child. Belle is even more precious to her in the wake of her own daughter, Suzanne, dying too soon in the process of birthing Colette. Off to the right in the background – seemingly ever in the background, Colette is elbow deep in a metal tub scrubbing her husband's shirt against a washboard. Regardless of Gabrielle's best efforts to nurture her confidence, Colette has always been unsure of herself, which made her 'easy pickins' for a liar and manipulator like Maurice. In time, he had managed to isolate Colette and put her in a box of his own creation._

_As Gabrielle sits at a table with Belle on her lap, she snaps some string-beans and tosses them into a pot, and the bright-eyed child does her best to assist with the task. The little girl looks back at her great-grandmother for assurance she's doing it right. Belle likes it when 'great-grams' is here, but she likes being at her great-grandmother's cottage best, because it doesn't get loud there, and it smells nice from all her special plants. Sadly, Belle's father sometimes – most times forbids her mother from taking Belle there. Kissing the top of Belle's head, Gabrielle smiles._

" _My precious girl, your iolite eyes indicate you have the gift of guidance and will always find your way. Embrace your third eye to see what others do not. Intuition thrives even when circumstances are dire."_

_After Maurice swills some gorzalka, he shouts, "Shut your trap, you daft old bag!"_

_With a smirk and a tilt of her head, she levels her smokey blue gaze at him, "I prefer the term 'crone.' Thank you very much." He sneers at her and takes another swig. Gabrielle says in an even tone, "Getting pie-eyed on your potato liquor will just burn away more of your brain, and you don't have any to spare. You're all mouth and no trousers."_

_Getting up abruptly knocking the chair backward onto the floor, he sways with his bloated face flushing and nostrils flaring, "I'll see you dead one day!" Colette is seemingly frozen in her spot with her eyes staring down at the floor, but Gabrielle is unfazed._

" _I'm surprised you can see anything, but know this, you unscrupulous lush, I will always find a way to be here with this child."_

_Preparing a retort proves to be too much for his drink addled mind, and he releases a long low guttural belch, waves her off, and staggers out the door in search of his questionable friends to have a night of carousing. After a moment, Colette looks out the window to confirm he's truly gone. She then grabs a jug and leaves the cottage to fetch some more water._

_Looking back to the child in her arms, Gabrielle pulls from her skirt pocket a stuffed panther stitched together with scraps of woven black wool. She utters an incantation, then smiles at the child, "Darling one, this is a reminder of your spirit animal. You have inside you what is needed to survive the trials ahead. When you're in mortal danger... or once you've become more skilled, you will have the ability to shift your physical being to become a panther. Be not alarmed by this change, it will serve you well. Your bravery and wit will flourish, seeing through the eyes of the powerful cat."_

_Little Belle takes the gift in her hands and smiles, "Panfur," then she makes a gurgling attempt to purr her thanks._

_Gabrielle chuckles warmly, then after several seconds her expression turns serious, "I'm sorry you had to see your papa act like that. No child should have to see that. You're the only good thing to come from that man. I want you to learn from other's mistakes as you grow. Use your mind and think. Thinking is a skill too many don't use enough. Your papa was a good talker in the day, and he said what needed to be said to sway your momma to be with him. He used his skills of lying and manipulation of others to get what he wanted. It's important to always remember, people love to talk, but there's often a world of difference between talk and truth. Frequently, those who talk the most are the most consummate liars covering their own nefarious, abusive behavior." Little Belle's brow furrows not understanding some of the big words her great-grandmother is using, but doing her best to absorb the rest. Gabrielle kisses her nose and says, "You'll understand this better when you're older. Just know that you should always think hard about what people tell you, because it might not be true, and that no matter what hurtful things some people do, karma usually burns their butts in the end."_

* * *

_The images in Belle's mind shift again. At twelve years old, Belle is still a child yet developing the first curves of the woman she will become. She stands awkwardly in Gaston's ornate – gaudy hall. She reluctantly accompanied her father after her mother with a freshly minted bruise on her cheek bone at the corner of her eye pleaded with Belle not to anger Maurice. Having snuck away from her father and Gaston, Belle notices a man with dark hair and eyes, a rounded square face and somewhat pointed nose. He looks to be near Gaston's age. His arms are full of items for a planned hunting trip until one item slips, he trips and the whole collection clatters loudly to the floor._

" _This is great! Just great! Gaston's going to have my head!"_

_He makes a odd squeak, when Belle, as yet unseen, taps him on the shoulder._

" _Would you like some help?"_

" _I really shouldn't."_

" _Nonsense. I'm here with nothing to do. Let me grab a few things."_

_He turns his head to ensure no one will see, and then nods. Belle knows she shouldn't trust a stranger, and she recognizes him as one of Gaston's hangers-on, but she also senses something different about him. They make their way out to a wagon and deposit their load. Eying his rounded features, she smiles as something about him strangely reminds her of a talking snowman from a book she's read. She pushes the silly image from her mind._

" _I'm Belle, by the way."_

" _Oh I know. Gaston has mentioned you once or a thousand times."_

_She detects a tone which sounds like a cross between jealousy and worry, and she's at a loss as to what to say._

" _Anyway, thank you, Belle. Sorry I sounded cross. It's just been one of those days – well, years."_

_He grimaces as he watches another dark haired man in the distance. The man is more chiseled in his features and has a brooding quality as though he carries the weight of the world in the form of a secret. Belle sees a similar secretiveness in her companion. "Oh, and I'm LeFou. I should have introduced myself earlier."_

" _Good to meet you, LeFou. Who's the man you're staring daggers at?"_

" _Him? He's just Stanley. He's a friend. I suppose."_

" _You don't look like he's a friend."_

" _I don't know. He just sets me on edge sometimes, and I don't know why." Shrugging, he continues, "Maybe I just don't like him because he's competition for Gaston's good will – sparing though it may be."_

_They walk back into the hall, and LeFou continues in a hushed voice, "It's just that when Stanley's around, I don't feel comfortable in my own skin and my mouth goes dry. It's as though I should be doing or saying something, but I don't know what. It's weird. I know. I don't know why I'm even telling you this, especially when it makes no sense to me."_

" _Belle! There you are. I've been looking all over for you."_

_She tries not to groan at the sound of Gaston's voice. Why on earth a twenty year old man is so intent on knowing her whereabouts, she doesn't know. Actually, she suspects, but really doesn't want to know. Her father waddles dutifully behind Gaston like a good little lackey. The group is rounded out when Stanley arrives. Stanley's eyes flicker towards LeFou, and then latch onto Gaston's looming visage gazing at him like all of Gaston's sycophants._

" _The horses have been tended to, Gaston."_

" _Good."_

_Belle mutters, "Would it kill him to say, 'thank you'?" She then notices LeFou's smirk, which is quickly covered by the look of a doting errand boy, when Gaston tears himself away from a mirror on the wall._

" _Did you say something, Belle?"_

" _I... uh, no. I just sneezed."_

" _Yes, that's wonderful." He says once again distracted by the mirror._

_LeFou positions himself between Gaston and the mirror. "Someone should put a cover on this or we could be here all day." Putting his hands on Gaston's broad shoulders, he encourages the large man to look at him. "Gaston, weren't there other things you wanted to do while you have guests?"_

" _Huh? Oh yes."_

_Putting his arm around Belle in a way that makes her want to peel the skin from her bones, Gaston declares, "You must see my menagerie! It's the best, of course," and his eyes drift to her newly forming breasts. LeFou gives her an apologetic look._

_Belle fights the urge to roll her eyes. Despite misgivings, Belle replies, "That would be lovely," attempting as much politeness as she can with an oaf who is eight years older than her and could crush her with little effort. Her father has some sort of dealings with the man, and she suspects her father has lost untold amounts of money to Gaston... Not to mention her father seems as enamored by Gaston as the rest of his fawners._

_Gaston guides them to a large chamber. It's at least three times the size of a typical cottage in their village. On each side, there are cages. Cages with creatures Belle has only read about in books and some of which she is utterly unfamiliar. The room also has countless racks of weaponry: swords, muskets, axes and more. Some items appear to be implements of torture. The despair in the chamber is palpable. It chases the breath from Belle's lungs. LeFou whispers, "Breathe very slowly. It's easier that way."_

_Belle does her best to calm herself. Her blood pulses in her ears. The sound drowns out Gaston boasting about each captive. She can't believe what she is witnessing. "How could you?"_

" _Shut it!" her father warns._

_Gaston completely oblivious to the contempt in her voice says, "Good question, my Belle. I have an agreement with a witch who's skilled in curses. Her curses never fail to put these monsters under my control."_

_She looks at him in disgust which he simply ignores. Her insides churn and she's ready to give him a piece of her mind, whatever the consequences, when the two headed dog begins to bark and howl._

" _Quiet you, mongrel, or I'll give you a real reason to howl!" Gaston's face reddens and his teeth bare as a large vein protrudes from his forehead._

_LeFou dashes forward running his hands down Gaston's massive arms, and his voice takes on the quality of a mother soothing her child. "Gaston. Don't upset yourself. Think of happy thoughts. The war. Dismembered bodies. Widows." A seemingly drunken grin melts onto Gaston's face, and LeFou playfully bops Gaston's nose with his finger. The rest of the visitors to the menagerie chamber stand slack-jawed at this interaction._

_Then behaving as if nothing out of the ordinary just happened, Gaston directs them to a section with a centaur in a cage and a harpy in another. The centaur looks like a human man, but his lower body is that of a horse. The harpy, whose characteristics amount to being a bird-woman hybrid, is the focus of a lascivious leer as Gaston gawks at her bared breasts. Belle feels a sense of shame for being here, shame for indulging this lout of a man, and a deep sorrow for the captives, but she is lost for words. Belle's repulsion is heightened as Gaston reaches through the bars of the harpy's cage in an attempt to touch her breasts, and in a flash, the harpy bites his hand._

" _Son of a..."_

" _Don't you touch her!" bellows the centaur in a neighboring cage._

_Before Belle can process what is happening, Gaston strides to a nearby rack retrieving a musket, flipping it end over end as though he were flipping pancake. Without thinking, LeFou steps protectively in front of Stanley, not really having time to stop whatever is to come. In the same moment, Gaston fires at the centaur, as a scream escapes Belle, and then the creature thuds to the floor red liquid spreading outward from his lifeless body._

_Belle's body trembles and itches at war with itself, as her mind fights her skin's surge to reform. She tells herself, "Don't change! Don't change! Don't change! He'll cage me too if he finds out!"_

" _Why?" She sobs out._

_Maurice glares at her, then shifting his focus to Gaston, he covers saying, "What she meant is how come you destroyed such a valuable collectable?"_

_Gaston walks over to Belle and sneers running his finger down Belle's cheek. "Sometimes you need to kill one to keep the others in line. Besides I can always have it stuffed." His eyes drift down and linger on her barely blooming figure. Suddenly, he turns on his heel and strides to the harpy cage grabbing her by the neck as she lets out a plaintive squeal. "Remember this! I can kill you whenever I want... but first, I can touch you whenever and however I want."_

_Belle wants to help her, but what is a twelve year old, shape-shifter or not, supposed to do? She feels like her scull wants to crack open as she feels teeth larger than her own desperate to form in her jaw. It is taking every bit of strength to keep her panther self at bay. She has to get out now before she loses this battle and ends up as part of this twisted menagerie._

_Guilt rips through Belle knowing she'll be leaving the others here at the whim of Gaston's cruel intentions, but she has nothing she can give to bring them to safety. Either she gets out now without them or she joins their ranks. It dawns in the back of her mind, that most fathers would protect their daughters from such a fate, but she has no such illusions about Maurice._

" _I have to go. Now!"_

" _What?!" Gaston releases his grip on the harpy to look at Belle, and her father's eyes are bulging in rage. Belle knows she'll get a beating at home for this, but she reasons it's better than ending up in a cage or dead._

" _Yeah, I... I have to go now. Um, woman's stuff." She puts her hands around her middle and winces hoping like many males Gaston will be put off by the idea of her bleeding time._

_The realization of Belle's words start to form in Gaston's head as his lip curls in disgust. "Yes, of course, be on your way."_

_She can't help but see the irony of the situation, and she thinks, "Sure, there's a dead creature bleeding out over there, but my monthly revolts you. Idiot!" Still, she is all too relieved that he has reacted in this way. She dashes out the door making her way through Gaston's manner to the outside, not bothering to wait for her father. She'll take her lumps once they get home, but at least she's alive._

* * *

_In the years that follow, Belle is fortunate to avoid Gaston as much as possible. One day at the age of fifteen, Belle is working in the garden. Taking a moment to sit back on her heels surveying her work, she becomes aware of a shadow passing over the garden._

" _Hi, Belle. How've you been?"_

_She looks up shielding her eyes from the mid-day sun, leaving a streak of mud on her forehead._

" _I've been well. So nice to see you, LeFou." Both statements are lies. She's nursing a painful bruise hidden by her sleeves produced by her father's ill temper. Additionally, though she has no objection to seeing LeFou, she knows his presence means Gaston is likely nearby._

_Her face divulges much of her thoughts, hence LeFou says, "I'm sorry to accompany a bad wind blowing this way."_

" _Unfortunately, being a blowhard is the least of Gaston's odious qualities."_

" _True."_

_She stares at him trying to make sense of his response, and he breaks eye contact looking off into the distance. "Then why are you friends with him?" She begins to stand and he offers his hand in assistance._

" _I'm not sure we qualify as friends."_

" _Where have I heard that before?"_

" _No, it's not like it is with Stanley. That's a whole other kettle of fish I'm still trying to sort out. But with Gaston... well, to be friends with someone, doesn't it need to be reciprocated? I don't think Gaston knows how to be a friend, and he has no interest in learning."_

" _Then why are you still with his crew?"_

" _No one quits Gaston. It's unheard of." His face displays worries beyond his years, and he adds, "It's too dangerous. Once you're in, you're in. The only way out is joining the vegetables in the garden."_

" _Surely, there must be a way." She wants to believe that quite desperately. He merely gives a non-committal shrug._

_This line of discussion only invites sadness, thus she changes the subject. "And why are you and Stanley still at odds?"_

_Giving a bitter chuckle, he says, "Perhaps being 'odd' is both our problems, especially when we're around each other."_

" _I don't think you're odd. What do you mean?"_

" _Have you... have you ever had feelings for someone you think you shouldn't?"_

" _What kind of feelings?" and then her mind puts the pieces together. "Oh, that. Not really. I'm only fifteen, and with a father like mine, just getting through the day is a challenge. I don't have opportunities to meet anyone who I can have companionship with."_

" _It sounds lonely."_

" _It is. Loneliness is one thing I do have experience with." She steps into his line of sight. "LeFou, you should be talking this over with Stanley. He might have similar questions, and maybe you can help each other find answers together." She smiles touching his forearm, hoping she's being of help._

_Belle looks reluctantly at her family's cottage, knowing she probably should go back. She observes that Gaston's crew has grown. There is the addition of a pudgy man with shortly cropped dark hair and a thin man with spectacles who also has short dark hair. They look all together unremarkable, hence Belle doesn't bother to ask LeFou about them._

" _Yeah, Stanley seems to be the only one besides me to find Gaston's 'outbursts' worrisome. I mean I've made some bad decisions in my service to Gaston, but some of that lot," his head bobs directing her attention to the two men, "the more cruel he is, the more they want to lick his boots. It's as though they see Gaston hurting someone or something, and they admire it. They seem to think they are stronger for being with him. Of course, maybe I've just lost my taste for it. But, I don't think I was ever that enticed by the darker parts of this life. They revel in it."_

" _I think you're better than this. I also think this is another conversation you need to have with Stanley. You know what they say, 'Two heads are better than one.' Maybe having someone to confide in, someone who understands your situation will lighten your load." She glances back at the cottage. "I guess I should be going."_

" _I suppose so. Gaston's not leaving until he sees you. Sorry. Be careful. He's become even more erratic since the day in the menagerie chamber."_

" _Thank you. And you be careful too. And remember what I said."_

" _I will. You're rather insightful for one so young. Adieu, Belle."_

" _Farewell."_

_Steeling herself to be brave, she walks back to the cottage. Maurice and Gaston stand outside the door in serious discussion. Both turn to Belle as she approaches. There is a glint in Gaston's eyes._

" _Oh yes, Maurice, I'll loan you the coin you desire with Belle as collateral."_

_She feels her throat constrict, waiting for her father to object – yet knowing no such parental objection will come from him._

" _Deal."_

_A grin slithers across Gaston's face, "Then it's agreed. If you can not repay my loan – with interest, Belle is mine." Licking his lips as he looks at her, "Yes, she will make quite a suitable bed-mate."_

" _What?! No! I'm not going to... to..."_

_Before she can finish her thought, Maurice slaps her face with a force that causes her head to turn so sharply that her neck hurts. "You will do what I, as your_ _ father _ _, see fit!"_

" _Now, now, that's no way to treat my future property." Gaston, with an air of false charm in his voice, saunters up to Belle and strokes her already reddening cheek spreading the dampness from a tear which has fallen. "My Belle, you'll find I'm quite agreeable, as long as you do exactly what I say. But if you don't, I_ _will_ _break you." Shoving her against the stone wall of the cottage the sharp edges of the stone digging into her back, his mouth – all lips, teeth and tongue crashes forcefully upon her unwilling mouth. She squirms and his beefy hand wraps around her neck while his other hand sets up residence on her breast._

_Pulling only his mouth away to stare into her wild frighten eyes, he tilts his head with a trace of a smile dancing across his lips. Then he leans in and whispers in her ear, "You know, your father is shit with money. So I will get my fill of you – or I guess it will be the other way around. And should I feel generous or have a need to persuade a comrade of mine, I may just share you. Understand what you are and your place, and you'll be a very good whore."_

_Closing her eyes as tears race down her face at the last word he uttered, she doesn't see but feels him move yet closer pressing all of him against her. "Hmmm, perhaps I should see first if this is a wise investment. Take a free sample... right now."_

" _Gaston!"_

" _What is it, LeFou?!" he growls at the interruption._

" _Scouts have reported seeing a Snuphleupagus in the area. They are such wily illusive creatures that we must go if we have any chance of acquiring it for your menagerie."_

" _A Snuphleupagus, you say? I've never heard of such a creature."_

" _That's because they are extremely rare. No one in all the realms has been clever enough to capture one."_

_Releasing Belle and stepping towards his men and horses, "No one until now. This creature will be no match for me." He cavalierly tosses to Maurice a pouch with gold coins._

_Belle, who has slid part way down the wall, stares dumbfounded at LeFou. Then she rushes forward and whispers with a scratchy voice, "Thank you. But please don't let him hurt the Ss..snuphle...upagus."_

" _That would be hard to do. I just made it up. It'll keep him busy for a while."_

" _LeFou, damn it, get your ass over here! We have a Snuphleupagus to catch!"_

_LeFou jogs over to the others, he and Stanley share a look, and then the pair briefly look worryingly at Belle, before mounting their horses. Gaston and his men ride off in search of their imaginary prey._

_It is then that she notices Gabrielle in the doorway holding a meat-cleaver in a white-knuckle death grip. Belle is suddenly certain that if LeFou hadn't interceded, that cleaver would have found a home in Gaston's skull. Maurice, completely apathetic to Gaston's assault on his daughter, walks off in the direction of the tavern._

_Gabrielle turns walking back into the house whispers to a horrified Colette, "Is this finally enough?! I've already buried my daughter. I refuse to bury my granddaughter and great-granddaughter in my life time." Suzanne's life was sacrificed for Colette's existence. The reminder of her mother's sacrifice is like a lightning bolt to Colette's chronically oppressed mind. Her years of rationalization of Maurice's lies and abuse, and her assuming they were safer with him, end in a heartbeat. She swallows the lump forming in her throat and answers, "Yes. We need to get away. We must keep Belle safe, no matter what."_

_That night after Maurice returns and continues to nurse some more bottled spirits, Colette spikes his gorzalka with some herbs Gabrielle acquired, ensuring he'd be unconscious for most of the next day. They make use of the head start traveling covertly with Belle through the night. They travel for days only stopping when they must, and they make it safely to the outskirts of a quiet village. Though their lives still have hardships, they live in relative harmony for many years._

* * *

_One day during breakfast, Gabrielle's eyes glaze over and she begins to tremor._

" _What's happening?!" Belle exclaims, and Colette replies, "I don't know. It's like she's in a trance or something."_

_Once the attack passes, Gabrielle's smoke blue eyes clear and she announces weakly, "We must leave at once!" then looking at Belle, "Ready the horses, and I'll help your mother gather supplies."_

" _Can you travel in your condition? What did you see?"_

" _One of Maurice's fellow derelicts tracked us down and told him where we are."_

" _Papa's coming?!"_

" _No, Maurice is dead. Burned to death by Gaston." Belle and Colette gasp in shock, and Gabrielle continues, "But not before Maurice revealed the information to Gaston. We don't have any more time to talk. Go!"_

_Belle runs to the edge of the woods and hurriedly tacks their two old work horses who are corralled there. Her great-grandmother can ride the bigger horse with her. At their cottage, Gabrielle and Colette gather the essentials._

_Patting the horses who seem as agitated as she, Belle feels something prickle the back of her neck and smells death. She runs back to the cottage frantic to get her loved ones safely away from whatever impending danger is piercing her skin trying to rip it from the bone. The cottage door is open and her eyes land on a bloody knife in Gaston's hand. She barely registers the crossbow leaning against the door as her eyes trace the path of pooled crimson which she could almost convince herself is berry juice, if not for the menacing expression chiseled into Gaston's features._

" _Nooooo! No, no, no! Oh gods!" Belle screams in soul crushing anguish as her eyes reach Gabrielle and Colette's lifeless faces. Without thinking she begins to run towards them, then hears Gaston's deep chuckle, "There's nothing you can do for them. Now, it's time I get what I'm owed. I will take it out of your hide in my bed or wherever I please. You will be my plaything as long as I choose to let you live. I own you now."_

_She helplessly looks for LeFou, but he is nowhere to be found... neither is Stanley. Though some small part of her is glad they have no hand in this horrific carnage, she is desperate for help – help that is clearly not coming._

_Two of Gaston's goons, a pudgy man with shortly cropped dark hair and a thin man with spectacles who also has short dark hair, Adam and Edward, are approaching from behind – boxing her in. All conscious thought leaves her. She is the embodiment of raw emotion – fear and rage. All that she has loved is gone. Gaston ripped it from her. Belle's blood runs cold and her claws dig into the remnants of brown grass on the frozen ground, her dress is in shreds on the ground, and a low growl emanates from the back of her throat._

" _What the..." Gaston's eyes go wide and assessing the sight in front of him. A sickening grin spreads across his face. "So you're the shape-shifter I've heard whispers of. This is a fortunate day for me, to be sure."_

_Belle watches the man who slaughtered the only family she had, and she is torn between running and attacking. Gaston takes advantage of her indecision and reaches into his hip pouch retrieving a vial of something akin in appearance to putrid swamp water._

" _You should have seen their faces, you know, right before I slit their throats." He keeps his hand low as he opens the vial with his thumb._

_Belle growls and hisses baring her flesh-ripping teeth. "Here kitty, kitty... don't you want to know if they begged for mercy – if they had any last words for their precious Belle?"_

_She stalks forward rage rippling through every muscle of her body, tearing her mouth open in clear threat. He launches the vial at her. A foul liquid splashes into her open mouth as well as into her eyes making them burn and tear. She takes several steps back shaking her head. The light of the morning sky is pulsing and refracting in her eyes and mind. She does her best to clear her mind of this disorienting intrusion._

_Gaston laughs with pure vindictiveness. "You remember that day in my menagerie, don't you? Oh of course you do, you were hiding quite the secret. Well, a good hunter always comes prepared, and I am the best hunter. So having heard of a shape-shifter in the area, that witch I told you about made me this helpful curse. I now control if and when you change form, and if you have any other magical abilities that I don't know about, you won't be able to use them against me. I will have you in a cage... the old centaur cage will do well for you. Most of the blood is cleaned up. And when I choose to have you in human form, I will_ _ have _ _you." As if amused by himself, which of course he always is, he adds, "I might even try some 'panther tail' if the mood arises."_

_Her ears prick backwards at a sound from behind. Adam and Edward are closing in with a rope net, but she charges them, and they stumble backwards, one having urinated and the other having defecated from a near miss with her claws and teeth._

" _Get her, you two idiots!" Gaston orders._

_Sniveling, "Yes, Gaston" in unison, they make another attempt, and she bites Adam's leg and he yowls and hops frantically away from her, and she whips around to hit Edward between the legs with her mighty clawed paw, causing him to shriek in agony crumbling into the fetal position._

" _Damn, you cowards! Do I have to do everything myself?!"_

_Belle turns sharply and bounds at Gaston in a frenzy of fury biting and clawing at his chest and arms. His fist punches her side knocking the air out of her. The blow is sobering enough for her to change tactic now that she has at least injured him. She starts to run for the woods hoping his injuries will at least slow his pursuit. As she runs, she hears a whistling of something cutting through the wind. A split second later she feels a searing pain in her abdomen as an arrow from a crossbow grazes her. It feels like fire cutting through her skin, but she can't stop running or she's doomed. From a distance, she hears Gaston yelling threats and curse words at her. Fortunately, even injured, she is much too fast for him at the moment. His voice becomes more and more distant, eventually fading entirely as she dodges through the woods, occasionally zig-zagging her path in an effort to be harder to track._

* * *

_Finally resting at a partially frozen lake hours later, she cracks open a thin area of ice near the shore and laps at the water as she is in dire need of replenishment. After drinking so much she feels as though her head is swimming and the cold makes her scull ache, she stares blankly at her reflection in the water. She begins to weep. Her heart feels crushed beyond all repair. She hears a sound in the distance that makes her wary. She wants to mourn all that she has lost, but now is not the time. She thinks of Gaston's words to her. "They can't be true, right? I'm not cursed." She uses all her focus to concentrate on resuming her human form. "It's not working!" she pants and thinks, "Don't panic. Try harder." Her face contorts from all the energy she's expending on this endeavor, but still the face reflecting in the water is decidedly feline. She slumps in exhaustion as the reality sets in. She is cursed – cursed and injured. She turns her body and begins to lick her wound. It hurts. The pain takes her breath away every time she makes contact. Hoping she's cleaned it enough, because the pain from licking it is making her dizzy, she stops._

_Looking up at the overcast gray sky, it occurs to her that it may snow soon. "What do I do now?" and then answering herself, "I suppose find someone who'd be willing to help me with this wound and who might have knowledge of how to break this curse." Her mind makes a list of all magic practitioners who may be able to help. Hedge witches, fairies, wizards and everything in between. "Most of them will not take kindly to a predator arriving on their doorstep."_

_Unsure of how long she has until she encounters Gaston or his surrogates again, she recalls all the terrible stories she's heard of the Dark One. The memories send a shiver down her spine, especially since her father, on many occasions in her childhood, threatened to call the Dark One to sell her to him. She was a child then, but she's a woman now, despite her current furry situation, and the Dark One looks like her best option. "I can seek him out. I can track him unseen, maybe, and if it seems like a mistake, I can add him to my list of people or whatever to avoid." She closes her eyes trying to detect the scent of his magic. There is a trace of something to the west... it's not off putting. In fact, she might categorize it as comforting. She shakes her head to free herself of the crazy thought, and she walks to the west following the scent. She opts not to analyze how drawn she feels to the scent the stronger it becomes. Her task is clear... find the Dark One. She has no idea what she'll do once she finds him, but she carries some tattered feeling - the last remaining shreds of hope in her life. She has to believe she'll know the right thing to do when she meets him._

* * *

**Author's Note: So yeah, Maurice bit the dust in this one... sadly, others died too. I guess Gabrielle was right about Maurice's karma. As the old saying goes, "What goes around, comes around," and Maurice couldn't outrun the toxic fate he created for himself with his lies and abuses of others. Of course, he'd probably paint himself as a victim. Guess it's just as well that Gaston took him out, because Rumple would have eventually taken him out for all he did to Belle, her mother and great-grandmother … and yes, Gaston will eventually pay too. Unlike what is often the case with OUAT show writing, sometimes people face the consequences from malicious choices to hurt others. I opted to switch out LeFou and Stanley for Adam and Edward for the nastiest part of the flashback. Having originally gone to see the 2017 "Beauty and the Beast" with great reservations about the movie, I ended up loving it, and LeFou, played by Josh Gad aka Olaf from "Frozen," was one of my favorite BatB side characters.  Hence, I couldn't bring myself to have LeFou be with Gaston when he killed Gabrielle and Colette. I have some fluffier scenes coming up with Panther-Belle and Rumple. The angst was needed to clarify Belle's back-story, but angst is my least favorite part of writing, so I look forward to Rumple comforting his new pet... and maybe ending up with messy hair in the process. Sorry Floof Commissioner, he's getting a new hairdo, temporarily. Thank you to my readers** **for all the kudos and reviews, they are appreciated. Guest reviews are welcome.  
**

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

As Rumplestiltskin leaves Ios in the great hall, he feels something gnaw at him. There was a worry in her expressive eyes. He tries not to think of it as he paces his bedchamber, yet that's all he can think about. In his bed, he stares at the dancing light and shadows cast on the ceiling by the flames in the fireplace. _“This is ridiculous! I'm hardly being cruel to her. That rug is far better than sleeping out in the elements.”_ He closes his eyes resolute to sleep tonight since last night was devoid of rest. Eventually, he drifts off only to be awakened by plaintive sounds from his guest and some sort of ruckus in the great hall. He fights the urge to check on her. _“She's safe. Nothing can harm her there. She's just testing her boundaries. If I give in, I will be at her beck and call. I refuse to be at her command.”_ With a huff of determination, he holds his pillow on top of his head trying to mute the sounds of the commotion downstairs.

* * *

Shortly before dawn, Belle begins to awaken from her trauma fueled nightmares. Her body aches as though she's done battle during her hours of unconsciousness. With her eyes still closed, she notices the floor feels different than when she settled there the night before. _“Did I roll off the rug?”_ Her eyelids open and her iolite gaze shifts erratically in the dim light to see the area around her in grave disarray. A small table has been knocked over, the rug is in tatters, and the pads of her paws feel deep gouges in the floor, no doubt from her claws. _“What have I done?!”_ Her body trembles as she swears she hears her father, _“You always screw everything up!”_ Her body jerks as her sense memory brings into the present the feel of his hand hitting her. In a crazed panic, she tries to push the bits of rug together with her paws, _“Oh gods! I can't fix it!”_ and in her mind, her father laughs and mocks, _“The Dark One's going to have you stuffed, like someone should have long ago. Welcome to Hell, Belle.”_ She weeps and scurries around the great hall and stops in her tracks hearing Rumplestiltskin approaching. It's too late to even run outside and never come back.

 

He enters the great hall sweeping open the double doors with both hands. He's not sure what he expects to see, but what he sees isn't anything he imagined. With a flick of his wrist, the room is illuminated with the glow of torches on the walls. Now, he can get a clearer view of the damage done to his things. He doesn't like his things being damaged. All those years as a poor spinner, with next to nothing at times, makes him want his belongings treated with respect. He strides over to the fireplace and notices the gouges in the floor partly obscured by the bits of rug.

 

“Ios. Did you have a temper tantrum?” he asks in a stern voice.

 

Of course she doesn't answer, and he wonders why he's expecting a response. He frowns staring at the way parts of the rug are piled together. _“Was she trying to fix it? If it was done out of spite, why make the attempt?”_ He knows she could have simply had second thoughts about her rampage, but that doesn't add up. _“Where is she? Did she leave?”_ The ache in his chest reminds him how much he does not want that to be so.

 

He's about to go look for her outside when at the far end of the room he spies something dark and out of place. Turning his head for a better view, he spots her. She's wedged under a curio cabinet, curled into herself so tightly that she looks small – much smaller than should be possible for a panther her size. It's as though she's willing herself to be invisible. He's struck by the remembrance of the countless times he wished to disappear from the view of others. Those times he had no magic to aid with such a feat. He had simply wanted to be far from scornful eyes. He walks slowly toward the curio cabinet, deliberately making his footfalls softer. Still, he sees her try to curl her being into a tighter ball of nothingness.

 

He kneels down and she tries to hide her face, but he sees the unmistakable dampness of the fur under her eyes. “Ios, sweetheart, don't be afraid.” He knows he could reach in and pull her out or even easier than that, have the curio cabinet magically transported to the other side of the room. However, he doesn't wish to traumatize her anymore than she clearly is. He wants to pet her, but he's not sure if the state she's in will allow it to not feel like an invasion of her space. His eyes ponder her tear soaked fur. _“Whatever happened here wasn't intentional. Could she have done it in her sleep? A nightmare, perhaps? Of course, you ninny, she was injured when you met her.”_ His lips become thin and drawn tight as he recalls the chaos left in the wake of some of his nightmares.

 

“I'll tell you a little secret. I once set my bedchamber curtains on fire during a nightmare.” That admission inspires her to look at him, and he smiles knowing he's on the right track.

 

“Hey there, beautiful. No one's going to hurt you.” She still looks unsure about relinquishing her hiding place, but at least she's looking at him. “Ios, look at this.” He waves his hand and all the damage by the fireplace is instantly repaired. “See? No harm done.” He can feel her anxiety lessen with that knowledge. He lies on his side in front of the cabinet to be more at her level.

 

“You picked a pretty good hiding spot. I would've liked this when I was a wee one and my papa came home in a foul mood.” He observes the attentiveness in her eyes. Rolling up his left sleeve, he points to a scar on the inside of his arm above the elbow. “Before he abandon me for good, let's just say, he wasn't a kind fellow.” The panther starts to unwind herself and crawl slowly towards him keeping her body low to the floor and her ears back.

 

“That's it. You can do it. Come on, my good girrrl.”

 

Her head turns toward his bare arm, and he sucks in an astonished breath as she begins to tenderly lick the scar. She makes long slow strokes with her large tongue. Her tender effort creates a tangible warmth both physically and emotionally within him.

 

Unable to fight a building desire for closeness, he wraps his arms around her, bending to rub his head against her fur and rasps out, “I won't let anyone hurt you again... I swear it.”

 

A moment later, he feels something broken inside her let go of any pretense of control and crumble like a million glittering pieces of a shattered cherished vase. He's not sure if panthers can sob, but if they can, he guesses the mournful sound which emanates from her is just that. She wraps her paws tightly around him. He can tell she's trying to keep her claws from hurting him.

 

In truth, her claws are leaving divots in his skin which are somewhat uncomfortable but not enough for him to disentangle himself from her needy grip. Instead, though the animal is near to his own weight, he turns his body to embrace her more fully and begins rocking her. In time, her woeful sounds subside, and her body becomes lax in his embrace. He continues to pet her, the weight of her body pressing against his own grounds and soothes him in an unexpected way. It is then that he thinks about how he opened himself up to her. In his long life, he's avoided talk of his father. With his wife Milah, he had only told her small bits of his experiences with Malcolm as his sole parent, and even that she threw back in his face when he hobbled himself to be a father to their child. There was a time -- quite long ago when he knew having someone to talk to was of comfort, even if it was a rare occasion to have such a connection, but with Ios trustingly wrapped in his arms, his mind's acknowledgment of this lost understanding is a true revelation to him. This revelation ambling through the recesses of his mind weaves its way along the rest of his being until he feels blissful and starts to doze with his head resting against his furry companion.

 

Belle doesn't know what to make of all that she's feeling, and she questions how much is human reaction and how much is panther. These aspects of herself are becoming more and more muddled together, yet she can't find it in herself to care. She had someone to hold her as she cried over her loss, someone to anchor her to the present, someone who was willing to share his surprisingly not so different childhood hurt with her. She stretches her hind-legs out behind her almost reaching the base of his boots. She knows she shouldn't overstay her welcome, yet he seems content with her in his arms. She hears a soft snoring sound and conveniently decides it would be rude to wake him, so she snuggles deeper into his warm body and closes her eyes.

* * *

The two awaken mid-morning, and Rumplestiltskin discovers two things which had escaped his observations since becoming Dark One: One, it's still possible for the Dark One to wake with a crick in his neck from an odd sleeping position, and two, when one's foot gets tucked under a weighty animal, it still cuts off the circulation causing a pins and needles feeling.

 

After waking, they have breakfast or rather brunch much like the day before. However at the end of the meal, he can't find the will to leave her to her own devises. Hence though he's sure it's a tactical mistake, he allows her to follow him. She follows him up the winding staircase to his tower workroom, and he tells her about the tasks he must work on that day. He is deep in concentration looking through a tome, hungrily skimming the pages for any useful information when Ios latches her teeth onto his sleeve and tugs.

 

“What are you...” the irritation in his voice cuts off when he sees the beaker he's been heating is about to boil over. He swiftly dampens down the temperature.

 

“Thank you, m'dear. That was quick thinking. Perhaps I could use a familiar after all.” Scratching her forehead just above her eyes in a way that seems to make her exceedingly pleased, he adds, “Are you applying for the job?” She puts her paw on his thigh, and he says, “Well, I'll consider that as good as a handshake. The deal is struck.” He giggles and is amazed to realize it's not one of his giggles meant to set people on edge, but rather some genuine exuberance bubbling up in side him.

* * *

By late afternoon tea, his voice is getting scratchy. He's spent more time talking to Ios than he has spent talking at all since he lost his son, and his vocal cords are sore from overuse after so little utilization for centuries, yet he doesn't regret a moment. Even Baelfire would have lost interest in his ramblings by now, still Ios seems to enthusiastically take it all in.

 

She saunters along side him the whole way to the great hall – ears up, tail up, alert for anything he might tell her. He's never known an animal this attentive and that's counting some rather brilliant sheepdogs he's had the pleasure to encounter, and well, most humans certainly don't utilize this much attention span.

 

As he pours his tea, he can feel her stare on him, but she sits politely, making no move to abscond with his beverage this time. He smirks as her expression gives the impression that it's some kind of torture not to partake in the warm liquid.

 

“I have a surprise for you.”

 

Her expression transitions to curiosity laced with anticipation. He waves his hand and another teapot appears. “I've done some research and found some herbs which will be safe for you when formulated into a weak cup of tea.” Her iolite eyes gleam with appreciation and excitement. “Now, the problem is you're still not built to handle a teacup. So...” Gliding his golden fingers over the rim of a white teacup decorated with blue flowers and gold trim, the cup begins to expand until it's the size of a bowl. He picks up her teapot and pours the aromatic blend into her tea bowl. After he places the bowl in front of her, she nuzzles her head against his knee in appreciation, then begins to happily drink. As he drinks his own cup of tea from the chipped cup, he shares a tale about the tea the old spinster women use to make him on cold Winter days.

 

After their tea time, Ios is back in line walking with him when he is walking into a room in which she's never been. He holds a hand in front of him and says, “Stay.” Ios cocks her head to the side in question. “Look, I appreciate your companionship more than you know, but I need my privacy for some things.” She blinks waiting for more elaboration. Sighing he explains, “You do your business outside, and I go in here. So scoot for a while. Go do whatever you need to do.”

 

Belle realizes her bladder is so full that teeth feel like they're floating, hence she trots off to the outdoors. When Rumplestiltskin is done with his privy time, he looks out the window and watches Ios who is now rolling in the snow. Belle finds the snow's chill makes her fur covered skin tingle with energy. After a couple of minutes, she goes back inside relieved and refreshed in search of _her_ Rumple.

* * *

After spending the rest of the day together in Rumplestiltskin's tower, dinner is more lively than the previous night as she has more energy after having some restful sleep when she snuggled with him in the early morning hours. She follows him to the spinning wheel, but has an internal struggle. _“The gold cord is pretty. I've got to touch it. No, I shouldn't. I'm still a human under this façade. I can control myself.”_ Her paw twitches beneath her. _“If I bat at it just once, he wouldn't really mind. Oh Gods, what am I thinking?! Just focus on his talking and don't look at the cord.”_

 

She shifts her body to keep the tantalizing gold cord out of her field of vision and listens intently to his story about a woman he taught to spin gold from straw. She doesn't like this story much. Maybe it's because the woman hurt him, and the woman doesn't sound nice otherwise, or maybe there's something more to her feeling of discomfort upon hearing of his unfortunate and brief relationship with that woman. She likes it better when he changes the subject to teaching his son to card wool. The stories about his son are some of Belle's favorites, and tonight, he proceeds to tell her several.

 

The hours chase each other like cubs at play until he announces, “That's enough for tonight.” They stare at each other apprehensively. Half-heartedly, he says, “You, uh, should stay in here and sleep,” but he makes no objection when she follows him out of the hall. He begins to mentally cuss at himself for letting this get out of hand. When they reach his bedchamber, he decides to set some boundaries.

 

“Go find somewhere else to sleep. You don't have to sleep in the great hall, but this is _my_ room, and you're not sleeping here.” She plops herself down on the floor in front of his bedchamber's doorway.

 

“Really, dearie? You're going to sleep right outside my room?”

 

She rolls belly up and puts her paw over her eyes. He bites his lip to keep from smiling.

 

“So you think being cute is going to get you what you want? Well, it's not going to work, little missy.”

 

He closes the door and readies himself for bed by changing into looser sleeping attire. He lies in bed, yet again staring at the ceiling for about an hour, when he hears a sound of distress coming from Ios on the other side of the door. He's up and to the door quicker than he can think about what he's doing. Her eyes are closed, she's growling, her paws are running in place kicking in the air. The tension in her muscles and the shifting of her eyes beneath her lids makes it clear she is facing the onslaught of another nightmare.

 

He surmises in the state she's in reaching out and touching to wake her would be unwise. “Ios, you're okay. It's just a nightmare. Come on my girl, waken up.” Her ears twitch at the sound of his voice. “That's it, waken up. Let me see those beautiful eyes.”

 

Her eyes flutter open, and she looks disoriented for a moment as she pants hard. Her eyes meet his and he sees a deep sorrow in them again. He crouches down, pats her head and says, “It's okay. You're not alone.” Then he looks over his shoulder into his room, and with a thought, a panther sized bed of blue and gold appears at the foot of his bed. Her eyes grow wide at the sight.

 

“Come on in. I'll be close if you need me.”

 

She walks over to her new bed and tentatively touches it with her paw as if checking that it's real, then she climbs onto it. He strokes her ears for a moment before turning and getting under the blanket on his own bed. He discovers it's quite easy to fall asleep to the sound of her purring.

* * *

It's morning when he notices her purring is much louder. _“How's she doing that?”_ The sun coming into the room is making him see red behind his closed lids, yet that's not the most intense sensation. His head feels something warm and damp massaging it. It takes another few seconds for thoughts to come together. He feels Ios' paws on his shoulders holding him in place. He opens his eyes to see part of her large head in his line of sight. _“She's grooming me!”_ he thinks as her large tongue makes another swipe across his hair. He tries to sit up, but she merely huffs like a mother scolding an unruly child and holds him in place with her paws as she continues washing of his hair which is now thoroughly coated in panther saliva.

 

“Ios, stop!”

 

She sits back looking offended.

 

“I have my own place to bathe.”

 

She shifts away from him looking ashamed and uncertain. He sits up, and he can make out his reflection in the polished mahogany headboard. Most of his hair has been molded into a sticky point like some trolls have. Trying to keep his attention on her instead of his hair which looks like he's had one of his potions blown up in his face, he says softly, “The thought and effort are appreciated. I'm quite fond of you too. But this,” pointing to his hair, “is unnecessary.” Once again, he looks at her and realizes if she were human he'd swear she's blushing. Without thinking, he gently butts his head against hers and she resumes purring. “I tell you what, my fuzzy one. After I'm done in the tub, which might take awhile, I'll make us a nice breakfast. Until then, stay here and keep out of trouble.” He gives her head another playful nudge with his own and then gets out of bed walking to his bathing chamber.

 

As he closes the door, Belle falls back on the bed. _“What is wrong with me? Who am I becoming?”_ Her memory goes back to a few minutes before, and all she could think about was how lovely his hair is. _“I just wanted to touch it – and lick it, but that's normal, right?”_ Relieved that he's not angry with her invading his space, she inwardly giggles at the image of his hair standing straight up. Recalling how she woke up yesterday – frantic she'd be punished for destroying his things, she purrs knowing she's found someone who truly cares for her.

* * *

**Author's Note: So Rumple became Panther-Belle's very own troll doll. Who needs styling gel when you have panther spit? Hehe! She fills an emptiness in him, so it's worth the inconvenience of sticky floof. In OUAT, both Rumple and Belle had abusive fathers, and I always wanted that common bond explored on the show, but the OUAT writers didn't, so I'm doing that here with some Rumple/Panther cuddles sprinkled in.** ****Thank you readers** ** **for all the kudos and reviews, they are appreciated. Guest reviews are welcome.**

 


	5. Chapter 5

The days become weeks as the Dark Castle turned panther den becomes increasingly Ios' home. In turn, Rumplestiltskin and Ios indulge in vast amounts of time together. She still has nightmares, and from time to time, a particular sound or smell will trigger a waking flashback. He does his best to sooth her during the ensuing anxious moments. Ios seemingly sleeps on her bed at the foot of his... However, though when he awakens, she's be in her bed, his bed has an unmistakable indentation beside him shaped like his feline companion and traces of shed fur on the bed linens. For the most part, the only times they are truly separated is when he leaves the castle for deal-making.

 

During one such excursion, Rumplestiltskin leans apathetically against a doorway trimmed with decorative scrolls. His former apprentice Regina, prattles on endlessly wondering why people don't like her.

 

“Are you listening to me?!”

 

“Yes, yes... 'Must kill Snow. People are mean to me, because I torture and kill their families for fun. Why don't people like me? It's all Snow's fault.' Do you have _anything_ new to say?” And he thinks, _“It's astounding how some people accuse others of what they themselves are guilty of. Taking ownership of one's own actions is foreign to them.”_

 

She strides over to him, her dark eyes glaring and her garish crimson lips curl in disgust. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. You smell... gamey. What in the seven hells have you been doing?”

 

“Not that it's any of your regal snout's business, but I've been experimenting with potions which include animal pheromones. Perhaps if you developed a wee bit of intellectual curiosity, your magical abilities would advance enough so you wouldn't have to incessantly whine to me about your lot in life.”

 

He mentally adds _“...which is your own damn fault! You could have run off and started a new life after you disposed of your mother. Your father would have helped you start over, but we both know your evil nature wouldn't allow that. So it's easier to blame others for your choices. Doubtless, you'll blame me when the Dark Curse blows up in your face. Yet, I did warn you of the perils of living in the past, but your innate maliciousness wouldn't allow you to take good advice.”_

 

Though he manages to deflect her bothersome query, the prying Queen's meddlesome question makes his mind squirm with uneasy thoughts of the future. He's been focusing on harnessing Regina's natural disposition for spite, in an effort to ensure she'll enact the curse which would take him to his son.

 

“ _But what of Ios then? Will she remain here in some sort of no man's land or will she be swept away along with the curse? If the curse takes her along, what kind of dangers will she face? And will I have any ability to protect her without my magic?”_

 

These questions make his head pound a defiant beat against his plans – plans which he knows must go forward if he's ever to reunite with his son. He needs to retreat – he needs time and space from Ios to regroup and realign his priorities. His fondness for her is becoming too much of a complication. 

* * *

The next day at tea, he announces in a matter of fact tone, “I'll be away for the next few days working on a deal. There's a distant kingdom in dire need of my help.” In reality, it's a nuisance call from a bunch of squabbling in-bred royals he's been ignoring for sometime, but it serves his purpose.

 

Ios' fur appears to stand on end and her muscles visibly ripple with tension. He feels a pang of guilt at the sight of her distress and bites down hard on his tongue to distract himself.

 

“You needn't worry. You're safe here, and the castle's magic will provide for you whatever you require.” Looking into her anxious, almost pleading eyes, he fights the impulse to call the whole thing off. After all, it's her hold on him which makes this separation necessary. She is clearly unconvinced, and he adds, “With your permission my dear, I could cast a spell, so that in the event that you have a nightmare, I will appear in your nightmare and chase the frighting images away.”

 

Belle's throat is tight and her mouth is parched irregardless of having been drinking her special tea. She knows they can't be constantly attached at the hip. _“Surely, he has more important things to do than play nursemaid to me.”_ Yet, the idea of being without him for so long doesn't sit well at all. _“I suppose having an imaginary Rumple appear in my dreams is better than no Rumple at all.”_ Having made her choice, she steps forward and nods her consent.

 

“That's my brave girl.”

 

He holds an amulet over her head, and she fights the urge to bat it with her paw for fear she'd interfere with the magic he's bestowing upon her. She feels a warm, comforting wave tingle from her head to her tail, and once the spell is complete, he reaches out and scratches under her chin which feels better than any magic ever could.

* * *

That night, alone in a castle which is far too big for one person _or animal_ , Belle aimlessly wonders the corridors. She's already eaten her fill for the night, since the castle magic did indeed provide her what she needs. She questions how he ever endures being in the castle all by himself, and then her mind gives way to a hope that her presence has made his life a little less lonely. He has certainly done that for her.

 

For the first time in her life, she has a real friend. _“But would he be my friend if he knew I was human?”_ She'd like to believe so, but she can't be certain. She recalls her great-grandmother telling her that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they treat animals. She feels a mixture of grief wishing to be able to talk to and hug her great-grams and mother again combined with gratitude for having found someone as kind to her as Rumple. She already misses him terribly, knowing it will still be quite some time until she sees her friend again.

 

She misses his voice, his soulful yet mischievous eyes, his dimples, his hair, his hands, his snug leather pants... _“Alright, enough of those thoughts! I'm just a panther to him. I can't let my mind drift to things I can't have.”_ Her mind shifts to the ever present issue of her curse, and the breaking thereof. She still needs to find a way to convey to him her need for the curse to be broken, but her heart is not fully committed to the notion. _“What if he thinks I was just using him to break the curse? Yes, I wanted him to break the curse – originally, but he means so much more to me now. Besides, what's so great about being human anyway? All it ever brought me was pain. I'm freer to do as I please in this form... and I have Rumple. Having him in my life this way is better than being without him.”_

 

She wants to go to his tower workroom, because much of their waking hours are spent there, so she believes she'd feel closer to him in that room. However, it's locked up tight. She reasons it makes sense considering there are too many volatile magical elements in there to be safe without his supervision. Regardless, she's disappointed to not have access to _their_ place.

 

“ _When did I start being possessive?”_ she wonders. _“Well, before Rumple, I didn't have much to be possessive of. And now, anything from my past that I did cherish is gone. Rumple and our time together is all I have that matters, and gods, I already miss him so much. But... I can get through this separation... I can. It's only a few days, right?”_ She swats mindlessly at a tassel dangling from an ornate tapestry which spans a corridor wall from the ceiling to a short distance from the floor. _“Only a few days, and I'm already talking to myself... well, sort of... because I'm so beside myself without his voice and touch.”_

 

Ios meanders into the great hall and gazes upon the bookshelf adjacent to the fireplace. The lack of mental stimulation makes her restless for something to engage her mind. She recalls Rumple's warning when she lingered by the bookshelf before, _“Don't even think about it. Books are not for eating.”_ It's her mind that hungers to devour the words encased by aged leather covers with embossed spines. She can almost taste the cornucopia of delicious ideas, tales and philosophies laid in a banquet of thought upon the shelf before her.

 

She's up on her hind-legs without further debate. Frustrated sounds emanate from her whiskered mouth as she discovers a paw isn't as useful as a hand for grabbing a book. A moment later, several books crash to the floor. The harsh clunking sound makes her cringe. _“Sorry, Rumple!”_ Now, with books sprawled this way and that, she lowers her body to the floor to assess her catch. Her heightened sense of smell leads her to a book recently handled by Rumple, which landed on the floor open to a random page with the ink laden parchment beckoning to her eyes. It's a tale of giants and a beanstalk. While she is captivated by the imagery and action, some of it conflicts with things her great-grams told her, but she speculates creative license was taken with either this tale or her great-grams tale. Though she knows she's biased, she'd bet on her great-grandmother being more accurate. Once she's read the two pages which were facing up when it landed, a new challenge presents itself – turning the page. She fears using her nose or mouth will damage the pages. Eventually, she maneuvers herself to use her tail to sweep across the book to advance the story. Her tail does indeed advance the story – by six pages. Fingertips are much more precise for such endeavors. Nevertheless, she reads the next two pages facing her, despite having lost some of the flow of the narrative. After this process is repeated a few more times, she loses interest in the incomplete tale. She hates leaving the books on the floor, but picking up the books with her mouth would certainly damage them. With a sigh, she makes her way to Rumple's bedchamber, and forgoing any pretense, she leaps onto his bed snuggling into his spot wrapped in the scent of him.

* * *

She awakens the next morning pleased to realize Rumple did appear in her dreams making Gaston scream like a _'wee child'_ as he ran from the Dark One. She enjoyed that. Now, she flicks her tail at a loss without her morning rituals with Rumple. Lazily hopping off the bed, she goes where she's never ventured before – his bathing chamber. The room is well-lit from the morning sun, yet not harshly so, and there are lovely scents which tantalize her. In the center of the room is a large tub. It's larger than any tub she's ever seen, not that she's seen many, but she imagines being the all powerful Dark One should come with some benefits. After circling the tub a few times, she gives in to her curiosity and leaps in – albeit rather clumsily. She is relieved no one was around to see her less than graceful landing which entailed her face hitting the side of the tub. She shakes her head after the impact and then lies down. It's been longer than she likes to consider since she's bathed, and that is certainly something she'd like to do again, sooner rather than later. However, she discovers that the cool porcelain of the empty tub has a soothing quality of its own. Looking at the orange glow from the morning sun cast upon the walls, her mind drifts. In time, her thoughts wonder to the typical inhabitant of this tub.

 

“ _I'm in Rumple's tub. Every morning, lies in_ _this_ _tub, and he's... he's_ _nude_ _!”_

 

Her paws cover her eyes as images of Rumple dance in her mind. She has no way of knowing if the alluring images are accurate since she's never seen him in such a state of undress, but the images mesmerize her regardless. After a while, the images create an unsatisfied frustration within her, and she opts to vacate the tub, trot down the stairs and outside to run around the snow covered grounds until she's exhausted. The snow swaddles her feline form with a frosty blanket as her rapid panting propels puffs of steam from her strained lungs. The way Rumple makes her feel, even when he's not here, is unlike anything she's ever experienced. She lies still as the cold numbs her mind with a glow of energy ascending and drifting away like the clouds traversing the sky above her.

* * *

The rest of the day drudges by as she explores more of the castle, venturing into a room which appears to be storage for countless items for which Rumple never found a use. Clumps of dirt and cobwebs coat her whiskers and dangle from her ears like abstract forms of jewelry. Leaving the room, she ventures outside for a quick roll in the snow to clean off and attend to the call of nature. Later, she finds another room which is kept in far more pristine condition. There's not a speck of dust to be seen. The room seems to contain items of a sentimental quality. The room smells of Rumple. She suspects he visits the room regularly, though she'd never witnessed it. There is a ball stitched from some sort of animal skin. There is a long stick with marks carved into it as though to measure something. There's an old cradle and a crudely yet lovingly constructed rocking horse. She wonders if his last visit here was interrupted or he was distracted as she notices a trunk with its lid ajar. She approaches it with caution – her eyelids narrow as she sniffs and concentrates. It smells like Rumple and something else or rather someone else. Her nose nudges the lid just enough to peer inside. She views folded items of clothing. She smells tears – Rumple's tears which she recognizes from the morning he coaxed her out from under the curios cabinet, when she felt and smelt him weep with her in her time of sorrow. Her mind arranges puzzle pieces, and the picture becomes clear to her. These are Bae's clothes. She feels a flush of shame for intruding on something so private, and her nose eases the lid down, and she turns leaving the room as she found it – a shrine to Rumple's past.

* * *

The evening finds her with a full stomach as she makes another attempt at something to read. This time the book in question is about King Thrushbeard and his petulant bride, Princess Christine. Belle can see some similarities between Thrushbeard and Rumple, and she feels a pang of longing. The story goes beyond the typically known tale to their lives extending after Christine changed her selfish ways. Thrushbeard and Christine's passionate relationship is emblazoned upon the parchment. Belle feels a mounting heat building in the words. She yearns to see Rumple, to feel him close to her, to have him... him... she can't quite put her finger – _paw_ on what she wants, but she knows Rumple is an irreplaceable part of it. She feels tense and annoyed that he's abandon her to traipse off to do who knows what. On some level, she knows she's being unreasonable, but she's not in the mood to be reasonable. Her ears twitch and her tail makes large frustration fueled swipes across the floor. She growls at the book, which now seems to be taunting her with experiences beyond her reach, and she walks away in a huff.

 

“ _Rumple, why aren't you here?!?”_

 

In a distant kingdom where Rumple is sitting, willing himself not to ram a salad fork in his eye just to block out the bickering royals, he hears her words spoken with the most enchanting accent. He instinctively knows it's Ios calling out to him though he is baffled by the human quality her voice takes. He chalks up the voice as being pure imagination, but he does feel Ios' agitation. He can tell she's in no danger, just peeved at him.

 

He might even find her ire a bit amusing if he didn't miss her so damn much. He grips the side of the table, until he feels the blood stop in his fingers, to prevent himself from going to her. As is typical for his deals, he spends little time talking, rather preferring to let these simpletons yammer on, ultimately revealing their weaknesses. Often times, the most important aspect of making an advantageous deal is knowing when silence must reign.

 

Indeed, most 'conversations' with those who call him involve a soliloquy from the desperate soul blathering _'I... I... I... me... me... me... '_ with him offering the occasional nudge in the desired direction, nodding, smirking, a warning of the perils of their deal -- to be summarily ignored by the prats, and usually some well placed sarcastic jabs which inevitably go over the heads of the self-centric dolts. There is no substantive conversation.

 

He never thought much of the fact until his seemingly endless monologues with the ever intrigued Ios. He misses conversation, but not with these self-aggrandizing idiots. No, the only 'person' with which he wishes to speak is Ios. Her call reverberates throughout his being, sending a shiver down his spine which seems simultaneously pleasant and unsettling. He focuses on the interlaced pattern on the plate in front of him to block any thought of why she affects him so. Minutes tick by, slowly the feeling of agitation is replaced by something he can't decipher.

 

Ios sits before the spinning wheel as her paw experimentally turns it. The soft creaking hum of the wheel makes her heart lighter. Gazing upon the rich sable and amber tones of the wooden wheel draws to her mind's eye to images of Rumple's eyes tranquilly roaming over her form in the first morning light. She wonders how they'd look gazing upon her human form.

 

“ _Yes, I suppose there are benefits to being human.”_

 

Still, she purrs at the memory of his hand attentively stroking her from her ears, down her back to the end of her tail. Her ears flick in response to hushed zip of the remainder of the gold cord falling from the wheel and dangling tantalizingly out the side of a basket where the bulk of the cord was collected the last time Rumple spun.

 

“ _Oh look at that!”_

 

Her paw tentatively taps the dangling cord, and she admires the play of light on the gold as it swings. She gives it a more committed swipe upending the basket and causing the adjacent spools of gold cord to roll across the floor.

 

To her surprise, she feels no regret nor no fear rather she rationalizes, _“No one leaves a pet alone for this long and thinks there will be no mess.”_

 

Her inhibitions typically restrained by her human form are delightfully absent. She has a flash of a childhood memory of the village children at play – something which life as Maurice's daughter would not abide. Now, she wants to play. She charges after the spool which rolled the furthest.

 

“ _We-e-e-e-e-e-e!”_

 

She loses her traction, slides and crashes with a deep thud against the wall. Unfazed by the impact, she quickly charges towards another spool, batting it to and fro, down the length of the great hall towards the double doors.

 

“ _Go-o-o-oal!”_

 

The giddiness pulsing through her is foreign and intoxicating. Never before in her life has she experienced such freedom from worry, freedom from fear of consequences.

 

“ _Yes, yes, yes! I win! I win! La-lala-la-la!”_

 

It's a joyous revelation to be released from cerebral introspection and just be in the moment. The fact that she is a grown woman doesn't dampen her embrace of a childhood she never had. It leaves her breathless, dizzy and euphoric.

 

Sometime later as her heart thunders in her chest and she pants heavily, Belle disentangles herself from the cord strewn around the room and resolves to attempt to put it in some semblance of order tomorrow. But for now, she heads to Rumple's bedchamber with an unexpected spring in her step.

* * *

Lying in bed wrapped around Rumple's pillow, she enters a familiar dream.  _Belle runs to the edge of the woods and hurriedly tacks their two old work horses who are corralled there. At their cottage, Gabrielle and Colette gather the essentials._ _ Patting the horses who seem as agitated as she, Belle feels something prickle the back of her neck and smells death. She runs back to the cottage frantic to get her loved ones safely away from whatever impending danger is piercing her skin trying to rip it from the bone, but then she feels an energy – a magic like she's never known. Rounding the corner, Gabrielle and Colette stand on the stoop holding each other as a hooded figure stalks Gaston, Adam and Edward.  _

 

_“ This is none of your concern, Dark One,” Gaston says with false mastery._

  
  


_ A giggle trills from the hooded man, “Oh, you think so, Dearie? Good thing I don't worry about the wee thoughts of pituitary cases.” _

  
  


_“ Look, you mettlesome beast, let me have Belle, and I'll be on my way.”_

  
  


_“ I think not. I don't take orders from slimy gastropods.” Rumplestiltskin smirks at Gaston's bewildered expression, and declares, “She and her family are under my protection now... and I don't like your tone.”_

  
  


_ Belle looks upon this man who she seems to know from another time as her lips are parted in surprise. A heartbeat later, the three men – if one could ever really call them men, are transformed into snails. Belle can't believe her eyes, and she looks at her mother and great-grandmother, noting the overtly satisfied look in Gabrielle's eyes. Her attention is drawn back to Rumplestiltskin by a moist crunching sound. Snail Gaston is a gooey mess on Rumple's boot, as he speaks to the other two. _

  
  


_“ You will live the rest of your lives in quite a fitting manner – ever slithering for refuge. Remember, dearies, these parts are full of rodents, toads and other critters who'd love a gourmet meal of escargots. Best not dawdle! Run along now!” A maniacal laugh erupts from him, amused by his final words._

  
  


_ Though it occurs to Belle that she should be horrified by the sight before her, she feels a rush of relief to have her family saved from something she deems far more horrific and evil. She motions for her mother and great-grandmother to go back inside their thatched-roof cottage, and as they do so, Gabrielle winks at her. “Since when does great-grams wink?” she thinks. In her next breath, her attention is drawn to her greenish-gold scaled hero, and she propels herself towards him pulling him into an ardent hug. _

  
  


_“ Thank you, Rumple! I... I...” She's not sure how she knows his name, yet she is certain of it._

  
  


_ Weaving his gnarled hands into her long dark auburn curls, he pulls her tightly flushed against his chest as she feels his heart beating against her. “No one will ever hurt you again, my Ios.” She pulls away just enough to gaze into his intoxicating eyes, when he continues, “I, uh, mean, my Belle. For as long as you live, I will protect you.” _

  
  


_“ But what of magic's price.”_

  
  


_“ I'll take the price upon myself.”_

  
  


_“ But in books, the hero gets his just reward.” Her voice has a low sultry tone._

  
  


_“ I would never extort favors from you.” he counters, clearly worrying what she thinks of him._

  
  


_“ What if they're given freely?” She bites her bottom lip which is the hue of a peach blossom as her iolite eyes shift nervously, scanning his face to gauge his reaction. Her petite porcelain hand strokes his wavy hair relishing the silky sensation as she croons, “Willingly... and with great fervor to know you in a way I wish to know no other?”_

  
  


_“ What... what is it you want?”_

  
  


_“ I'm not precisely sure, but I'd venture a guess that you can help me figure it out. We could learn each other's wants together.”_

 

_ His breathing becomes shaky and he leans forward. Taking her cue and unwilling to wait any longer she moves to meet him. Their kiss begins soft and questioning – tender lips exploring pleasures only imagined. The chill of the day urging them to seek warmth in each other. As the kiss deepens, the scenery around them changes. His tongue caresses her own as his hand reaches for her hip, and she feels the large table from the great hall pressing against her back. Perhaps she should wonder how she got here, but the sensations he's causing within her have shut all pathways to logical thought. His other hand, still nested in her hair, gently tugs her head back, and she notes a new spark in his amber eyes.  _

  
  


_ Licking his lips, he says, “Giving me a taste of you makes me want to feast upon you all the more.” _

  
  


_ She smiles with a full blush blooming on her cheeks. Struggling to make bold words pass her swollen lips, “You're delicious. I want to devour and be devoured.” _

  
  


_ Using his hand in her hair to tug her into position, his lips latch onto the supple skin of her neck eliciting a breathless squeal. He chuckles and pulls away just enough to whisper in her ear, “You are my mate, my darling Belle. Now and forever.” She begins to nip at his neck, and he growls, “Ah, ah, ah, I haven't finished my meal.” His tongue sweeps out, gliding down her neck making her breathing rough and erratic as his tongue takes long licks traveling down passed her collarbone to her... her... _

 

A pin prick of light assaults Belle's eyes, and she instinctively blocks it with her paw. _“Paw? Oh no, no, no! We were just... just...”_ She growls taking Rumple's pillow in her teeth and hurling it across the empty bedchamber.

 

She leaps off the bed, charges out the door, runs at a full gallop manically jetting down the stairs in a blur of black fur. The doors to the castle open wide for her exit. Her paws pound against the snow hurling frozen debris into the crisp morning air. She flings herself into a snow bank at the north side of the castle which is shaded and even more frigid. She breathes deep of the chilled air, trying to expel the wanting from her body. The need which Rumple has unknowingly implanted within her leaves her morose. She rolls over to face the placid sky which is an expanse of seemingly endless blue. Devoid of any clouds, it seems to mirror the emptiness of the castle without Rumple's chattering and flippant quips. She lies there until her body becomes numb. Nothing numbs her feelings, yet the cold is at least a needed distraction.

* * *

Later, she dourly drags her paws entering the great hall. Her appetite plays a game of hide and seek, concealing itself with Rumple's absence. Thus, instead of going to the kitchen, she opts to tidy what she can of the room. She noses a spool forward as her paw clumsily attempts to get gold cord wrapped around it. After a great deal of effort, it's messy, but better than it was. After she puts the basket in place, she picks up the spool in her mouth and drops it into the basket. Gazing blankly around the room, she spies the glint of gold from under the Oak Court Cupboard. The ornately constructed piece of furniture is accented with ebony inlay and short rounded feet. The spool of gold is wedged diagonally between the cupboard and the wall.

 

On a better day, she'd admire the cupboard's scrolling design and how it contrasts to the shapes of diamonds and squares of the inlay, but the intricacy of the design holds no charm for her as she pines for her Rumple.

 

She tries in vain to shove her massive paw under the cupboard, but the space is too small. Going with an alternative approach, she threads her tail under the cupboard. A powerful swish of her tail propels the spool and some dust balls out from their wooden prison causing the projectiles to go airborne. The dust balls dissipate causing her to sneeze, and the spool clatters loudly against a pedestal holding a chalice. The sound intrigues her. Her ears perk as she runs after the spool which has ricocheted off the pedestal across the room. Her pulse quickens as she speedily seeks her prey. She skids over the floor as though she's skating on a lake, and a paw gets caught in a loop of gold cord. She comes to quite the ungraceful halt and jerks at the cord which only seems to tighten around her.

 

“Well, well, well, when the cat's away... wait, you are the cat – Damn there goes my metaphor.”

 

“ _Rumple!”_

 

He hears his feline make a sound which his deluded mind could almost make out as his name, if his name was Rur-rle, which of course is a wholly insane notion.

 

She assesses him for a moment. _“He's not angry. Well, he might be – a little, but who cares? He's home!”_ She charges towards him with an unraveling spool of gold trailing her like a second tail.

 

“Easy, girl, easy. Not so fa...” the words are knocked out of him as he lands unceremoniously on his rump with a panther atop of him. His face, neck and ears are assaulted by an overly eager tongue.

 

She knows she's making an unseemly display and acting more like a stray village dog than any self-respecting panther, but her animal façade allows her to be bolder than her human self could, and she chooses to take full advantage of this opportunity. As the taste and smell of Rumplestiltskin tantalizes her, she is even more keenly aware of how much she missed him.

 

His eyes are squeezed tightly shut and his face contorts trying to get control. He knows if he opens his mouth at this moment to correct her, his mouth will likely be invaded by panther tongue. He turns his head, and she concentrates her efforts on his hair again. His hair becomes gelatinous from her attention. He reaches up and grabs the scruff of her neck like he imagines her mother did.

 

“Enough, you unruly beast!” he says with a belly laugh which undercuts his command. “I missed you too, but I'm going to drown in panther spit if you don't stop soon.”

 

She ceases her licking and tenderly rubs her head against his chest. His heart pounds thunderously against her furry noggin. He strokes from her head to her back, and she preens in response. He reaches for her paw and loosens the loop, removing the gold cord from around her.

 

“Now, my troublesome feline, you've made quite the mess.”

 

Her previously self-congratulatory stature sags and her ears drop. “I could fix this with the flick of a wrist, but how would you ever learn your lesson? So we will work together to manually manage your mayhem – After I've had a bath and we have breakfast.”

 

She lands with a disoriented thump after he maneuvers himself free and is standing in the blink of an eye. He strides out the double doors and up the stairs, and she quickly catches up with him on his trek to his bedchamber. He eyes his pillow on the floor and clicks his tongue at her disapprovingly, yet she can see he harbors no real resentment towards her. She perches on her own bed, while he makes his way to the bathing chamber. She disinterestedly glances around the bedchamber. Minutes tick by and her eyes repeatedly seek the door behind which is Rumple.

 

He notices traces of Ios' fur in his tub and mentally chuckles. He knows whatever mischief in which Ios partook was infinitely more riveting than listening to royal rubes squabble for days. In hardly any time at all, he has cleaned and filled the tub with fresh warm water and soothing oil. During his spinner days, such a bath was a luxury. Thus, he makes the most of it now. Nude and submerged, his body relaxes. Realizing Ios is near eases his tension which had mounted from days of forced separation. He closes his eyes relishing the moment. The moment drags as a faint snore rumbles from him.

 

Belle impatiently meanders about the bedchamber. Again, her eyes focus on the door – the door which doesn't look as though it's been properly latched. She can almost hear her great-grams saying, _“Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back,”_ as she was apt to declare from time to time. Belle isn't sure she's ever appreciated that statement as much as she does in the moment.

 

Her whiskers twitch in anticipation. She knows the _right thing to do_ is to wait for Rumple. However, doing the right thing never benefited her in her life anyway, and the opportunity her feline form affords her is all too tempting. After all, she wouldn't be so bold in her human form. She nudges the door with her nose, and there's a faint click from the latch freeing itself. Before her is the same tub in which she lounged having the most lascivious thoughts of Rumple yesterday. Now, his bare arms dangle on the sides of the tub with water beading upon his greenish-golden skin. There is something so beautiful about the sight, causing her to stare unmoving. Her eyes drift to his wet wavy mop of hair dripping onto the marble floor. His head leans back exposing the arc of his neck, and again, she fixates on the water beading on his skin creating a prism of colors within the dew-like droplets. Her tongue darts out swooping across her whiskers, and she finds the flavor much less appealing than the idea of tasting the water collected on Rumple's skin. As she cautiously moves closer, her mind acknowledges the scent of almond.

 

“ _He must have used oil in his bath.”_

 

She is a breath away from him. If she stretches her neck, she can get a good view of the _contents_ of the tub. She's certain the skin under her fur has gone pink at the thought. Instead of partaking of the sight of hidden delights, she sniffs his ear, and he unconsciously shakes his head in reaction to the tickling of her whiskers. She's incredibly fond of the shape of his elf-like ears. Never before has she realized that a person's ears could be this appealing. Indeed, as she takes the time to admire him, she also is attracted to the angle of his nose and how his nostrils flare when he breathes deep.

 

“ _Is this normal?”_ She shakes her head. _“Normal? I'm wondering about normal? I'm a woman in the body of a panther. Normal is a relative notion, and this situation certainly blurs the lines of normal. Okay, well, all I know is he's beautiful, and I want him.”_

 

Just the tip of her tongue grazes his ear savoring the taste of _Rumple Almondine_. An undignified snort emerges from his sleeping form, and in her mind, she giggles. She likes when Rumple is relaxed and unfettered. She lightly licks his neck and notices a wisp of a smile tug at his mouth. She tries not to think about what that mouth did to her human form in her dream – and how much more it could have done to her if she hadn't awaken when she did.

 

“ _Why do dreams have to end when things are just getting interesting?”_

 

She dares to lick and carefully suck the water dripping from his hair, and she wonders what it would be like to run her human fingers through it. Almond flavored Rumple is enough for her to be willing to give up tea in trade for regular servings of him. She cautiously licks his neck, careful not to let her teeth contact his flesh, and he makes a sound which reminds her of when he's enjoying his meal. She wonders if he's dreaming about eating some decadent feast. She'd love to lick his chest and feel his heartbeat under her eager tongue, but some part of her human conscience deters her from following the impulse. Instead, she turns her attention to his right shoulder and upper arm where he has a birthmark which shaped like a lizard. She takes a moment to indulge in her amusement of this new found facet of Rumple's body. Like so many other quirky features of his, it only attracts her more. Her tongue traces the birthmark before traveling along his arm and swiping lightly over the inside of his elbow and he moans. She stops her ministrations wondering if he is in pain. She studies his face noting his furrowed brow, and his bottom lip sucked in, pinned beneath his discolored teeth.

 

“ _Is he turning pink under his scales? Maybe the water is too hot for him.”_

 

She rubs her head along his arm and nudges his hand in an effort to wake him. He hisses the words, “That's it. Yes-s-s-s,” then his body shudders and his eyes open. Bewildered, he looks around the room until his gaze finds her.

 

“Ios? What are you doing in here?”

 

She licks his hand hoping he won't be upset with her intrusion. He looks down into the water and an uncomfortable look graces his features.

 

“You really ought not be in here.”

 

She blinks wondering what to do. She knows she should have stayed in the bedchamber, but she's missed Rumple ever so much.

 

“I know you were in here while I was gone. Are you trying to tell me you need a bath?” he asks jestingly as he scrubs and rinses his hair. He's not sure how bathing a panther would even work. Yet he is astonished as she puts her paws on the edge of the tub in preparation to pounce.

 

“No! Not now!” he yelps out before she can follow through. At her perplexed expression, he says, “Your claws against my wet skin would not be a good idea. I have... uh, things in here I don't want damaged.” Hurriedly finishing bathing himself, he adds, “If you're so keen on a bath, I'll figure out a way to do it sometime later when I'm dressed.”

 

Belle hangs her head feeling monumentally embarrassed that she nearly jumped into a tub with a naked man. _“Sure, it's Rumple, and yes, I'd love a bath, but I can't act on every impulse I have. Can I?”_

 

“Not that this isn't... um, fun, but I'm getting pruney, and it's time for me to get out. Turn around.”

 

She does as requested and hears his wet feet meet the floor and water drip from his body. She sees a distorted reflection of him revealed on the metal of an ancient urn. This taste of the sight of him only heightens her temptation, and she turns her head to glimpse him with his back to her toweling off his nude body. Having spent a scandalous amount of time looking at him in leather pants and wondering what his magnificent bum looks like with an unobstructed view, she's entranced and immobile gazing at the curve of his cheeks. So much so, she is slow to realize when he wraps the towel around himself and looks at her with a gaping expression.

 

“You just have no concept of boundaries, do you?”

 

She's quick to notice that he half chuckles the words out, and she paints an innocent expression on her face, suddenly looking at a shadow on the ceiling.

 

“What am I going to do with you, you incorrigible beast?”

 

“ _Gods, I'd love to find out!”_ She closes her eyes and scrunches her face, _“No, don't think like that. He thinks you're a panther.”_

 

Seeing her contorted features, he says, “Alright then, I'm sure you're hungry, so enough of this dawdling,” and with a snap of his fingers, he is dressed in his somewhat foppish attire complete with flowing silk shirt, jerkin and those all too skin hugging leather pants.

 

“Time for breakfast, my darling Ios.”

 

Her brilliant eyes meets his, and his heart thuds an erratic beat. Rumplestiltskin is struck by the realization of how much he did miss her.

 

“Oh Hell, that experiment was a complete waste!”

 

She looks at him inquisitively. He knows she doesn't realize the true reason he left. His whole effort to become less impacted by her – less in need of her company is an utter failure. Still, he's not unhappy. His worries about the future can wait. Right now, he has his Ios, and all is right in their special little world.

* * *

 

****Author's Note: I wonder if human Belle would be good at soccer/football. Why** **do ****dreams end just when things get interesting? My darling husband/beta says I was mean for [** ** _his tongue takes long licks traveling down passed her collarbone to her... her..._** **A pin prick of light assaults Belle's eyes, and she instinctively blocks it with her paw] – Yep, guilty as charged. Hehe! BTW, can you tell I'm still not over the disparity between the ending both Rumples got versus the ending Regina got when OUAT ended? Don't get me wrong, I love Lana Parrilla, but given the actions of Regina and both Rumples, there certainly seemed to be a double standard. Also, Rumple repeatedly took ownership of his actions through the course of the series, yet Regina, Moe, Zelena, Hook, and others did not take ownership of a lot of their actions.** Thank you, readers, for all the kudos and reviews. I find a lot of your comments compelling and sometimes amusing, giving me a smile. Guest reviews are welcome. **

 


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